


WiccaTale

by TheCharismaticWicca



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: All Comments Welcome, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Original, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Amalgamations, Asgore x OC, F/M, Gaster - Freeform, Like, Magic, Original Asgore, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Papyrus, Original Undertale, Original Undertale AU, Original Universe, Original sans, Papyrus - Freeform, Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus Knows More Than He Lets On, Sans - Freeform, Sans Has Issues, Slow Burn, Tension, Underfell, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underfell Undyne, Underfell W. D. Gaster, Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale AU, Undyne - Freeform, Violence, Witch - Freeform, Witchcraft, asgore - Freeform, magick, really slow burn, underfell alphys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 25,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCharismaticWicca/pseuds/TheCharismaticWicca
Summary: WiccaTale, a new Undertale AU featuring an original character. Take the elements from HorrorTale (i.e. death/torture/violence/etc) and they are certainly included in this book. HOWEVER...This *is not* a HorrorTale story.Join a girl who managed to fall into the Underground. Monsters have slowly started to disappear and it is rumored something has taken up residence in the old Ruins.She doesn't know what the heck is going on-or why she's wearing a witch costume-but through a strange turn of events all the monsters believe she is one of them. If she can keep up the facade long enough to find a way out, and before she is hunted down by a mysterious figure, she'll be home free.





	1. Snorting Flowers

If you want a nice tale, one of a heroin who saves all monster kind, you've come to the wrong place. See, this won't be just another average story. We're going to watch the world slowly burn, and it all starts with a girl waking up by accidentally snorting pollen.

____________________________________________

The yellow flowers suffocated her face. They seemed to be everywhere-not just in her nose. With a startled cry, she sat up and found herself in a cave. It was quite nice, if one can call an abandoned cavernous dust bowl nice. The girl began to stand, scattering yellow flowers as she brushed them off her dress. Her nose wept with joy (or rather, snot just sort of seeped out) at finally catching a reprieve.

The girl stretched, letting out a voracious sneeze. She blinked as she looked around at her surroundings. Then blinked again. Where exactly was she?

A cave, obviously. Alright, no problem. Every cave has an entrance, she just had to find it. Just then another wave of deathly pollen inserted itself further within her nose canal and she was overcome with sneezing. So violent were those thunderous sneezes, the girl's head whipped up from the sheer force. With tears rolling down her cheeks and curses streaming out of her mouth, the girl found herself staring up. She found the cave opening, the issue, however, was that it was above her several feet in the air. The girl pressed a hand to her head, how exactly had she gotten down here?

She didn't remember falling. She didn't remember much of anything.

The girl sighed.

The air was getting stale and the girl worried that the flowers were gearing up for another attack. It was time to move on and get out. The girl noticed a hat on the ground lying next to her and picked it up, making sure to dust off any pollen it had collected on it.

It was a strange hat, black with fabric at the tip going a bit wonky and pointed. A word tickled at the back of her throat, but she just couldn't think of the name for the hat. With a shrug she put it on her head and hurried off with a quick sneeze.

Traveling through the cave was...interesting to say the least. At some point someone must have lived here because there were marble pillars erected all over the place, as well as some broken puzzles that the girl easily bypassed. Someone must have loved and cared for this place once, but they were long gone by now, as evident from the moss and vines crawling over every available surface.

As the girl walked on, she couldn't help but feel the sliver of fear. A coolness crept up her spine and pooled into her head. She could feel her back prickling, and a foreboding sense of being watched. The girl tripped over a vine and went sprawling across the ground. She coughed as she picked herself up and found herself staring up at a large house. It was once grand, but now it was faded and sad. The windows were smashed, but the inside was dark. Yet, the girl was almost certain she saw something move inside. 

The yellow flowers were starting to seem a bit more inviting, what's a couple more sneezes? And hacking coughs. As well as suffocation. 

The only problem the girl could find with this whole ordeal (which might attest to how hard she might've hit her head on her fall down) was the fact that if she didn't keep going, she wouldn't get out.

The girl closed her eyes and went inside.

...and immediately wished she hadn't as she gagged at the horrific sweet-rot smell that permeated the house. She felt like a fish out of water floundering around for a gasp of fresh air.  The girl pressed a hand to her mouth and left the door behind her open in a desperate attempt to ventilate the house with clean oxygen.

The girl found herself staring after she managed to stop tearing up at the smell. The house was in tatters. Furniture was torn into pieces, smashed porcelain littered the floor, and deep claw marks ripped through the walls. Whatever had taken place here had been extremely violent and the girl was almost certain she could make out streaks and puddles of a dried dark brown crust that could be blood. The girl shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

Where was she?

But more importantly, was she still alone?


	2. Witch's Hat

_Where was she…but more importantly, was she still alone?_

* * *

 

            The girl had to find a way out, preferably right now. It would be extremely convenient if a door leading far, far away from this place were to appear.

            Unfortunately, one such door did not and the girl was still stuck in a bloody house.

            The girl rubbed her temples. She needed to find a way out, but she also needed supplies. Who knew how large this cave was? Someone built a freaken house for God’s sake!

            The girl looked around. To her left was a living room and tucked in the far corner seemed to be a kitchen (but through the doom and gloom, who really knew?). To her right was a long hallway and what seemed to be a couple of bedrooms. It would be smart to see if there was anything edible in the kitchen, but for some reason that side of the house was the messiest. The living room was a landmine of glass and sharp pieces of wood barred the path. Standing on her tipy-toes, the girl thought she could make out a small haze of black swirling by the kitchen. She didn’t want to find out what it was but she had a pretty good feeling she already knew.

            To the bedrooms it is!

            The girl crept down the hallway, careful to not step on something that might hurt her. As she went, she traced the claw marks along the wall. They were deep and jagged, but they thankfully seemed to be old. The girl arrived at a door with a cracked knob. No amount of twisting it could open the door. Something on the inside had blocked it and considering the state of the house the girl hoped that nobody had been on the other side of that door because maybe…they might still be there.

            Between the locked door and the next room was a spiderwebbed mirror. The girl stopped at the movement of her reflection. Any normal person would have thought “Oh, that’s a cracked mirror and I’m in a big creepy, spooky-scary house. I should probably hurry up and leave.” Not the girl though. Nope. Instead of taking this precious time to hightail it the hickety-heck out, she decided to look in the mirror.

            To be fair, what she saw was a bit strange. Thankfully nothing scary happened, like say, a demonic child appearing behind her with a large creepy smile and bloody knife. Instead, the girl just stared quizzically at herself. She had never paid attention to what she was wearing as she wondered around in the ruins and now it was coming as a bit of a shock to her.

            Her amber-almost orange eyes were familiar, as was her long dark hair. Even her freckled birth mark below her right eye seemed to wink at her. The rest… is interesting to say the least.

            The girl was dressed in a mixture of black and purple, as well as a bit of lace and orange. Her odd hat completed it and the girl felt rather stupid for not remembering the name sooner. She was in a witch’s costume (and a pretty decent one at that). She even had a little pouch of fabric tied to her waist as a purse. 

            The girl smacked her head. Of course! She must have been at a Halloween party that someone (stupidly) threw on the mountain. She probably wondered off and fell into the cave from there. This changes absolutely nothing though. She still has to find a way out.

            To her delight the next room was unlocked, although it wasn’t very different than the rest of the house.

            Basically, it was trashed. Either someone broke the queen-sized bed getting a little too funky, or a different type of funk got to it instead. The girl hurried around what was left of the room. Apart from a torn-up bookcase there was nothing on the desk. All the drawers were pulled out and turned upside down, the contents now just another pile of trash. A bookshelf on the far wall was essentially pulverized and clothes from a dresser had been thrown out.

            Out of curiosity, the girl sorted through what was left of the clothes inside the skewed dresser. Other than some purple dresses and a gardening shirt there was nothing of real importance. Well, other than the mostly untouched fur cloak the girl found tucked safely away in the back. The girl touched it and felt a deep satisfaction at finding it to be one of the softest things she’s ever felt.

            Well, considering she can’t really recall much from before she fell that might be a lie.

            The girl couldn’t stop petting it, but ultimately decided not to take it with her. After all, she didn’t truly need it. The cave was at a decent temperature and added weight probably wouldn’t be a good idea. The girl sighed heavily and set the cloak down. Time to move on.

            She left the room only to find a sign hanging on the door to the next one. Apparently, it was under renovation. The girl had a sneaky suspicion that it would never be finished.

            The girl felt a sudden chill crawl down her back and had the sudden need to use the bathroom. She wasn’t finding anything useful and the house was thoroughly scaring her now. Was it just her, or was it getting hotter? She went to puff her shirt to ventilate but found that you really couldn’t do that with a corset. The girl frowned. It was time to leave—Now.

            The girl picked her way through the debris back to where she had started. She thought there had been a staircase leading down, and thankfully she was right. She held out a hand on the banister and was about to descend when she realized she hadn’t checked the kitchen yet. Was it really worth it? For her sanity, no. For her stomach if the cave proved to be long, yes.

            The girl turned around and weaved her way to the kitchen, biting back bile that threatened to rise through her throat. The smell became overpowering and a loud buzzing grew in the air. That black mass the girl saw earlier turned out to be a disgusting ball of flies. Something nice and rotten had caught their attention and the flies were crawling all over a chunk of who knows what near the doorway. The girl felt a rising swell of panic. This was wrong, very, very wrong. She averted her eyes as she walked through the threshold. She didn’t want to know what the flies were eating, and if she didn’t see it or think about it then everything would be fine. Right?

            At this point the girl was actively gagging. She had a funny feeling that there wasn’t going to be anything edible in this monstrous hell. Yet, she pressed on, hand outstretched to open the fridge door. Because she began to realize that something more sinister than a ransacked house was going on. Burglars didn’t do this. Some _thing_ else did and the girl’s morbid curiosity wanted to know what was going on.

            She opened the fridge and froze.

            Glass jars stuffed with parts of creatures she’d never heard of. Bags filled with various liquids that couldn’t have been acquired humanely. Trays cluttered with bone fragments and dust.

            The girl felt sick, her stomach was weighed down in stone. Her head was pounding to the beat of her thudding heart. And then she heard a noise.

            It was quiet. Soft. Just the creaking of wood. It was like any other noise of the house, and the girl could barely hear it over the buzz of the flies and the screaming in her head.

            But it was there. And it was creeping towards her-and she realized.

            She wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link for the girl's appearance sketch:
> 
> https://thecharismatic-wicca.tumblr.com/post/176324528120/read


	3. Buzzing Flies

_It was quiet. Soft. Just the creaking of the wood. It was like any other noise of the house, and the girl could barely hear it over the buzz of the flies and the screaming in her head._

_But is was there. And it was creeping towards her-and she realized._

_She wasn’t alone._

* * *

 

            Wide-eyed, she desperately searched the kitchen for a place to hide. She opened cabinets as fast and silent as she could in hopes of finding one with enough space to fit in. Almost all of them were filled with strange piles of goop and flies. All the while, she could hear the faint creaking creeping ever closer.

            The girl whimpered and scrunched up her eyes. There was nowhere to run and the only place to hide was overrun by inky insects. She had to make up her mind. Stay in the open or cram herself into a cabinet. The girl drew in three quick breaths and scrunched herself inside the under drawer. She took off her witch’s hat and held it as she tried to close the little door, but it wouldn’t shut all the way. In fact, it barely shut even half way. The gap was so large she could easily see out. She attempted to scoot as far away from the opening as she could, but between the goop and the flies there wasn’t much room.

            She could feel it in the room before she could see it. It seemed to suck all the air and fill the space with static. The girl couldn’t stop herself from twitching. Flies had started to crawl over her skin and the more adventurous ones decided that the inside of her nose was a lovely place to sit. She could do nothing. If she moved, the Thing in the room would hurt her. Maybe it would harvest her own organs and put them into neat little jars next to the others in the fridge.

            The girl could feel an almost electric hum and hear a slight whine. As it walked closer to her hiding spot (was it right outside?) the whining gradually grew into a shrill buzz. It wasn’t loud, it was _smothering_. She shut her eyes and began to count in her head. If she shut her eyes she could shut it out.

            If she shut her eyes, she could shut it out.

            If she shut her eyes-

            Where was it?

            The static had lifted leaving the air feel almost empty. The girl continued to count and once she reached 300, she slowly crawled from the cabinet. The Thing was no longer here. It was like it had vanished. Hopefully it decided to go away and maybe jump off a ledge.

            The girl crept into the living room and darted behind a ruined couch. Everything seemed fine, had it actually gone? The girl decided not to stay and find out. It was well past time to go, she had out stayed her welcome and would never come back.

            She reached the staircase and scurried down until she hit a concreate hallway. It was long and dimly lit, but thankfully there was no smell and no flies. The girl spied a large decorated door and ran the entire length of the hall to get to it. Despite its grand size, it easily opened to her touch and she gratefully stepped outside---and into snow.

            What?

            The girl looked around.

            She was under a mountain. In a cave. That had a forest. With a blizzard.

            The girl growled in frustration. What the holy (frozen) hell was this? This wasn’t possible-never mind all the horrors in the house. There was no way that there could be a blizzarding forest in a cave that was as dry as a desert not thirty minutes ago. The girl shivered. Snow was already clinging to her body and her fingers were starting to go numb from the cold. She wouldn’t be able to survive in this. She needed a coat…

            Or a cloak.

            Slowly, the girl turned around and looked back inside. She didn’t want to go back. She really, really, really didn’t want to go back. Even though she couldn’t quite remember everything about her past she did recall the concept of ‘scary movies’ and it seemed to her that she might be in one. She darted a look at the winter wonderland around her.

            She didn’t want to die.

            And so, she took a step inside.


	4. Static

_She didn’t want to die._

_And so, she took a step inside._

* * *

 

            She had to be smart about this. It would be fantastic if the Thing was well and truly gone, but her gut was giving her a different impression. All she needed to do was to zip up to the second bedroom, grab the fur cloak, and skedaddle.

             Lightning quick.

             In, out, gone.

             Just like that. 

            She could do it. She didn’t have a choice.

            The girl slunk up the stairs. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do in knee high combat boots but taking them off and putting them back on again would have taken too long; especially considering she might need a quick getaway.

            Once she was on the main floor she looked both ways. She had no idea if the Thing was waiting for her, just bidding its time until she fell into its trap. She could imagine its teeth tearing through her arm, she could imagine its ugly face burning a hole through her eyes. The girl shook herself. Now wasn’t the time to imagine what the Thing was capable of.

            Silent and slick, the girl darted down to the second room. The knob groaned and the hinges creaked as she slowly opened the door. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard. Sweat rolled off the girls face as her heart hammered in her chest. She felt an impending sense of dread, but she had to persevere.

            The girl rushed to the dresser, trying to be as quiet as one can be when half running, half crouching. She snatched the cloak and was starting to cross the room when she heard it.

            The slow creaking. The sneaking static.

            Coming closer.

            Closer.

            Cursing in her head, the girl dove under the split bed just as it stepped into the room. This time it walked through the room, no doubt knowing that something was in the house now that it had found the door open. At that moment, the girl would have given anything to reverse time and make sure that the door was nice and shut. Actually, scratch that, she would have rathered never falling into this hellhole in the first place!

            It neared the dresser, and from the girl’s hiding place she couldn’t see what it was doing. She only spied an immaculate shoe and neatly hemmed dress pants. She could hear the dresser groan from protest at whatever the Thing was doing. Then it abruptly stopped.

            The girl didn’t hear it move to the bed but she knew it was next to her. She could feel it on the back of her neck, in the twitch of her muscles.

            She _did_ hear it sniff the air. The sound froze her blood.

            It was right there.

            She buried her face into the fur cloak, terrified of making the slightest warble and giving herself away. She didn’t know how much she could take before she’d crack. She could feel her hot tears spilling onto the cloak and wetting the fur. She wished that she could remember her family so that she could hold onto them. But nothing came.

            Boney fingers lightly trailed the wooden post of the bed. The static was all consuming. The buzzing filled her ears, her heart, her chest. It was electrifying, and she couldn’t breathe without getting a shock. The Thing started to chuckle, a deep throaty sound that was oddly intoxicating.

            It knew she was here.

            It knew she was hiding.

            And it knew where.

            “Don’t worry,” It said, “You’ll be mine very soon.”

            With a faint snap it was gone once more. The girl slightly sagged, it felt like all her energy had been sapped. That electricity, that static…The girl shook herself.

            She didn’t waste anytime jumping up and running downstairs, through the hallway and to the door. She kicked it open and the cold air took her breath away. She had barley thrown the cloak around her and clasped it before she started running through the deep snow.

            As she ran she could hear its low laugh and feel the static at her back.


	5. The Hunt

_As she ran she could hear a deep chuckling and feel the static at her back._

* * *

 

            The girl panted in the constant flurry. The snow was coming down hard and fast. She was certain that she had been on a path, but now she wasn’t so sure. The snow was slightly below her knee now and running proved difficult. She couldn’t see the path anymore, it was just a sea of white and harsh lines of trees. In the corner of her eye she thought she saw a gathering of shadows darting closer, but every time she looked there was nothing there.

            The wind bit through the girl’s thick cloak and the chill iced her bones. She didn’t know how long she had been running, it was starting to feel like an eternity. She was getting tired, only her adrenaline and fear moved her.

            That, and the low chuckling that she could sometimes make out over the whistling wind.

            Gasping for breath, the girl could make out a small dot in the distance. With renewed energy she tried to sprint through the snow. Could it be another house? She could really use another house right now, even a spooky one would be fine with her. Anything to get out of the snow.

            A piercing howl filled the air and almost stopped the girl in her tracks. Wolves, there were wolves in the blizzarding cave forest now. Of course, because why not at this point? Next there would be a treasure hoarding dragon, or maybe a talking goat.

            The small dot proved to be a sort of wooden stand. The girl couldn’t really make out any practical use for it, but it didn’t matter. It was shelter. She placed a hand down on the wooden counter and slid over it. There was nothing inside save a couple of used ketchup packets. The girl crinkled her nose.

            Gross.

            The wooden floor was already covered in a thin layer of snow. The girl managed to pack most of it on the far side of the wall and sit in a little clearing. She slumped under the counter, not caring when her head thumped against it. Her body ached. She had a sneaky suspicion that if she fell asleep she would freeze to death but closing her eyes wouldn’t hurt.

            The girl was just nodding off when she heard a thump above her head. She startled and grabbed her mouth to keep from making any damning noise. It sounded like a group of somethings were outside the stand. How they had gotten there without the girl hearing them? They sounded big, a lot bigger than the size of a wolf.

            Her heart was going to burst and her head was pounding. She had to look. She had to know what they were. A part of her brain rationalized it as knowing what her enemy looked like could help her figure a way out.

            But really, it was that same morbid curiosity that made her open that fridge.

            The girl carefully placed two hands on the ledge of the counter above her and started to rise. She could easily dart back under if need be. She slowly raised her head to look out and was glad that she was too terrified to scream.

            The wolves weren’t really wolves. They were monstrous beings that blended in with the white of the snow. It almost seemed like there were multiple beings that it was made of with too many legs and various extremities all sticking out. The word ‘Amalgamation’ came to mind and it easily fit the appearance of the creatures. There seemed to be at least four that the girl could see, maybe more. They were so large they had no difficulty walking through the snow. Heads bent to low, the Amalgamations appeared to be sniffing around for something. No doubt for her.

            The girl fell back as one came around the corner of the stand and looked up. It didn’t have a face. There was nothing there, just a void of black. The girl shuddered. What exactly was living under this mountain? Where had the people who built these structures gone? Why was the Thing and its ‘pets’ hunting her?

            A sharp whistle cut through the blizzarding wind. All the Amalgamations rose and looked to the noise. In tandem, they all raced towards it. The sight left the girl shaking. These creatures were easily controlled, most likely by the Thing that was hunting her. The girl couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

            This was just dandy.

            Once making sure that the Amalgamations and their Papa weren’t going to make a surprise appearance, the girl hopped out of the stand and continued running. The wind blew against her hard and managed to smack her to the ground a couple of times. She winded through thick trees, certain that she had lost the path. Every time she tried to righten herself, the wind would just blow her in a different direction.

            The shadows were back and they were no longer confined to the corner of the girl’s eye. A flash of white and black from the left and right. A growling through the trees.

            It was the Amalgamations, and they were coming for her.

            No matter how hard she ran, the creatures were faster. It seemed like they were herding her but she was completely powerless to stop it. The girl stumbled into a clearing as the wind started to die down and the snow slowed to flurries. Just beyond the protection of trees she could easily make out the forms of the Amalgamations pacing back and forth.

            She was wrong. There weren’t just four of them, but ten.

            They had trapped her and were waiting. Waiting for what, the girl thought she knew with increasing anxiety.

            The soft crunch of snow gave it away. The sound shouldn’t have been heard over the wind-which was light now but should still be loud enough to cover the Thing’s footsteps. It was impossible…

            For some reason, the girl was drawn to It. The static that clipped through the air made her feel alive. It wasn’t static, not really. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but it was intoxicating. She could feel it weaving through her blood, she could taste the electricity on her tongue. It made her body twitch with excitement; her eyes grew wide.

            The Thing emerged through the tree line. It appeared to be human, at first.

            Dressed in a classic black suit, the Thing almost seemed to be plucked out of a James Bond movie. As the girl’s eyes looked her gut twisted. One might be able to call the figure dashing or handsome, but there was one problem.

            It had no skin.

            It was a skeleton.

            The face was all bone, a rather cracked skull. One eye was crushed to a crescent, the other had a tear that looked like a tear. Its hands were blasted with holes.

            The girl took an involuntary step back. Her mind and body were at war. One screamed to run away, the other to run toward. She was left frozen instead.

            The Thing, which was most certainly a he-the girl thought randomly-loomed before her. He smiled a wolf’s grin and the Amalgamations closed in.

            The girl gasped and tried to back up as the Thing stretched out a hand toward her. She twisted her foot and went sprawling into the snow. The little pouch attached to her waist opened and spilled its contents.

            This was the part where she would die. Maybe the girl should close her eyes, or would it be better to keep them open and face death outright?

            Who was she kidding! It wasn't like her to just roll over and take what was handed to her (or maybe it was, she didn't remember). She had to persevere.

             The girl tore her gaze from the skeleton leaning over her and watched the Amalgamations form a tight circle around her. Then, her eyes wondered over to her torn pouch. Lying in the snow were a couple of gold coins and a deck of cards. The girl blinked.

            And blinked again.

            A deck of cards.

            Her mind raced.

            A memory pricked at her brain.

            Without realizing it, she tore open the deck and held a hand of cards. Her fingers rearrange them until one sat cradled in her fingers. To the average person it might have looked silly, but to the girl it was comfortable. She had done this before, many many times before and the positions were like second nature to her.

            With the flick of her wrist, the girl threw the card with beautiful grace and deadly accuracy. It cut through one Amalgamation and it cried in surprise. The girl grinned, she had a chance after all.

            The skeleton cocked his head to the side and looked down on her in slight amusement as she fixed the cards into position. But when she harmed one of his pets, his eyes burst into color.

            His smile fell into a harsh line, but before he could act, the girl was throwing cards at him. A Jack grazed his neck, then a Queen bit across his skull. The skeleton stumbled back, nobody had ever had the audacity to fight back. They typically just accepted their fate, and the fact that this _little girl_ wasn’t, was grinding his bones.

            The girl switched directions and flung her cards at the approaching Amalgamations. If she could break the circle, she could get away. She had to keep an eye on the skeleton though. There was a reason he had amassed such a collection of body parts in his fridge.

            He wasn’t used to losing.

            Lightning quick, the girl turned on the ball of her foot and flung one more card at the skeleton. A joker sliced him square to the chest, ruining his immaculate suit. He fell to his knees and thumbed the tear. By the time he looked up again, the girl had scooped up her pouch and managed to make it out of the clearing. His pets were scattered around him, whimpering in pain.  

            The skeleton’s eyes narrowed. A shot of orange and blue burst between them as he screamed in frustration. He yelled at his pets to get up and looked over at the trail the girl had left behind.

            He must have her.


	6. A Cold Welcome

_The skeleton’s eyes narrowed._

_He must have her._

* * *

 

            The girl was quite a distance away when she felt the ground shake. She threw her head over her shoulder as she ran to see a brilliant beam of orange and blue light up the night sky. Her eyes grew wide. She needed to find a place to hide, fast.

            In the deep snow as she ran she could make out strange structures. She wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be, but they were certainly wrecked and scattered all over the place. Like the ruins, there might have been a puzzle or two lying around, but between the heavy snowfall and the strong sense that the area was receding back into the wild, they were completely destroyed.

            Eventually the girl happened upon a wooden bridge. She chanced a glance back and found racing shadows looming ever closer. The girl gulped, she was running out of time.

            She sprinted across the bridge and almost fell off once or twice. Beyond the bridge was a cluster of wooden houses and she let out a cry of relief. Finally, a place to hide.

            The houses looked worse for the wear, but the girl wasn’t going to judge them too harshly; to her they were the holy grail. The girl picked one at random, and it looked like nobody was home. The girl was about to go through when she happened to spy light a little further into what she assumed was a village. She looked back to the bridge and thought she could make out lumps of white crossing. She needed to hide…but hiding would do her no good if the skeleton caught her anyways. If she found people, then he might just leave her alone. Safety in numbers and all that.

            The girl shut the door and ran to the lights. She found a much nicer building than any of the others she had seen so far. A sign above it spelled out “G R I L L B Y’ S”. She could hear laughter and practically smell the crackle of a fire inside. Her eyebrows stitched together in slight confusion. After everything she had seen, she decided to stop questioning the logic behind a bar in an underground cave with its own weather system and climate.

            She quickly opened the door and closed it behind her, glad to be out of the cold.

            All noise in the bar abruptly stopped. There was light music playing still, but without the happy sounds of the bar’s patrons there was a sort of eerie silence that blanketed the building. The girl looked up to find a variety of creatures staring back at her. A flaming man tending the bar, two birds sitting on a stool, a mean looking plant, and a table full of dogs with armor and scythes.

            The girl took a couple of tentative steps forward and felt like she might faint.

            This place was getting weirder and weirder by the moment.

            Although, to be fair she must have looked quite strange herself. She was covered in a large fur cloak leaving her formless (she looked like a white fluffy blob) and the physical exertion from running had left her gasping for breath. It also didn’t help that her body couldn’t stop twitching from the high of adrenaline. She probably looked like a half dead rat.

            Just then, a duo of cheery voices from outside sliced through the apprehension in the room. The door slammed open and two skeletons, one tall and the other short, stepped inside. They were saying something about glittering spaghetti, clearly oblivious to the tension around them.

            When they finally became aware of the situation at hand, they grew silent.

            The tall skeleton’s mouth hung open, staring at the girl while the short one tensed.

            “H-HUMAN?”

            But the girl wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. The bar seemed to shrink as she saw the Thing emerge with his pets. They were coming.

            “Shut the door.”

            The words came out strangled, the girl couldn’t find her voice.

            Nobody was listening.

            They had all drawn weapons and started to yell (at her?) It sounded like static. The only thing she could hear were the soft footfalls of the Thing, the only thing she could see was impending death.

            “Shut the door.” She said again, and it came out a bit stronger this time. The short skeleton seemed to jolt out of his stupor. He raised a brow, not quite understanding what the girl was getting at. He didn’t know about the bogeyman creeping in the night, nor of his hounds whining for bloodlust.  

            “SHUT THE DOOR!”

             The girl screamed and sprang into action. Her fur cloak came unclasped and fell to the floor as she ducked around the skeletons. The shorter one brace himself and he held up a fractured hand. One eye started to blaze blue and a familiar static filled the air. The girl growled in frustration. There was no time to explain that she wasn’t a threat, that the real threat was outside just behind them. She stuck out her hand and grasped the short skeleton’s. She could feel the splintering cracks of his bones (what the hell had happened to his hand!). Her body vibrated with the contact of blue energy. Everything began to tingle and jump. She stretched out her free hand just as a beautiful azure burst out, smacking the approaching Thing hard in the chest.

            With a groan the girl slammed the door closed and stuck a nearby chair under the knob.

            She was dumbly aware that she was still holding the short skeleton’s hand. She dropped it and mumbled a sorry just as something hit the door with enough force to bump the chair away. The girl could hardly lift her fingers, she was so tired. The short skeleton whirled around, astonished to find that the girl wasn’t trying to attack but had saved everyone instead. He barked orders to the other creatures and they all gathered around the door solemnly. The girl tried to join them but the only thing that had kept her going was the sweet, sweet drug of adrenaline. Unfortunately for her, her brain had run out and was barely functioning as it was. She sank to the floor and closed her eyes. Just a couple minutes of rest couldn’t hurt. The worst that could happen would be death, and isn’t death just permanent sleep?


	7. A Coin Trick and Broken Hands

_She sank to the floor and closed her eyes. Just a couple minutes of rest couldn’t hurt._

_The worst that could happen would be death, and isn’t death just permanent sleep?_

* * *

  

            The girl slowly came to. The group of creatures from the bar had gathered around her, apparently the threat from before was long gone and forgotten about.

            She groaned and the creatures jumped back a good two feet, all except for the skeletons.

             Someone from the crowd shrieked, “Are you human, human?!”

            The girl let her head fall back to the floor and didn’t answer. From what it sounded like, being human down here wasn’t a good idea.

            “It can’t be, it’s a witch!” One creature said, “Just look at what it’s wearing.”

            All the other monsters nodded their heads in agreement.

            “Well, what’s her name?” The tall skeleton interjected. The girl squinted her eyes at him, he wore a soft denim jacket with tan fur lining and a multi colored scarf double wrapped around his neck. He, and the one beside him were the only ones not to panic at her presence. His voice was a touch husky and warm. She couldn’t help but smile, and she wasn’t really sure why.

            All the creatures looked to the girl. She sighed. She didn’t want to answer. In fact, she actually didn’t remember her name. Her fall must have really messed with her memories.

            But if she was going to be a witch, she needed a name to match. Due to exhaustion, but most likely a lack of creativity than anything else, the girl muttered a name.

            “WHAT?!” The crowed squawked.

            The girl sighed again. She wanted to sink into the comfy floor boards and sleep forever.

            “Wicca.” She eventually whispered.

            That seemed to satisfy the monsters. Now that they knew she wasn’t a human, they were no longer interested. Well, all but the two skeletons. The short one was the only one who hadn’t said anything. He had just stared at her, not buying the thin lie of Wicca being a witch.

            “If she’s a witch, she should prove it.” His voice was deeper than she expected. It reminded her of…Wait, what had he just said?

            Wicca glared at him. She knew what he was doing, and she didn’t like it.

            The creatures in the bar perked up. They could sense a spectacle and scurried over to watch it unfold.

            “Well kid, are you going to show us some magic or what?” the shorter skeleton demanded.

            “Sans-” The taller one tried to butt in, but Sans held up a hand to stop him.

            Wicca darted a glance around the room. Everyone was listening in, even the flaming bartender (who she presumed must be ‘Grillby’). But hadn’t she already  _done_  magic by controlling and redirecting Sans’ blue energy? It had certainly  _felt_  like magic to her. Before she could form the words, she could feel the skeleton’s glower. The girl rethought her reasoning. If every monster possessed abilities like his then admitting to doing that wouldn’t set her apart. (She’d still be able to prove she wasn’t human, she assumed. But the girl never settled for average. If she was going to be a witch then hell to high water she was going to prove it!).

            The girl began to look around in an attempt to buy herself time. She had to perform magic, or at least make it appear that she could, but how? She couldn’t exactly throw cards at them, besides, she wasn’t sure her card throwing muscle memory could perform a flawless trick.

            Wait!

            Card trick. Coins. Her pouch.

            She had golden coins! She might not be able to perform a card trick that required strategy and forward thinking (which she didn’t have on account of not remembering if she actually knew any tricks) but a coin trick is in a different boat entirely. To perform one, all she had to do is rely on her sleight of hand to get her through it. If her fingers could remember how to throw cards, hopefully they remembered how to flip and hide coins.

            Wicca removed her battered pouch from her waste and scooped out one golden coin. She moved it between her fingers fluidly, trying to warm them up and hopefully “activate” her muscle memory. She was taking a big gamble here, but she didn’t have much choice.

            With a deep breath, Wicca held up her hands for the crowd and let the coin move rapidly between her fingers. She tossed it into her other hand and performed the same movement. She then abruptly stopped and made a fist with both of her hands. Slowly opening them and revealed to the crowd that the coin was no longer there, almost as if it had disappeared…like  **magic**.

            The crowd gasped and turned to each other with wide stares. Where was the coin?

            The girl smirked and locked eyes with Sans, “It looks like the coin is gone.” She said, “I wonder who took it.”

            Wicca leaned in close to the skeleton. Her breath fell against his. He watched her with a weary eye. What was she playing at?

            The girl stretched out her hand slowly, relishing in the moment. “I think I know where it is.” She purred into his ear.

            With an almost careless stroke, Wicca flourished her hand behind the skeleton’s head and flicked the coin back into her palm.

            Ladies and gentlemen,” She said,

            “I present to you…”

            She flicked the coin through the air, caught it, and added a little twirl.

             “MAGIC!”

            The crowd roared and clapped, clearly impressed with her feat.

            “And somebody should really clean out their ears.” She said with a wink.

            The tall skeleton smiled widely and nudged Sans playfully, “See, she’s a witch like she said.” The smaller skeleton glared and said nothing.

            “I’m Papyrus,” The taller skeleton said, and held out a boney hand to shake. Wicca hesitantly shook it, not surprised to find a strong grip.

            “That was a cool magic trick you did,” Papyrus winked impishly, “How’d you do it?”

            Wicca grinned, “I'm a witch.” She said slyly and peaked a look at Sans. There was nothing he could say to try and out her now. She had proved herself to the monsters in the bar and he had simply failed. The girl also had to admit that it felt good rubbing it in his face.

            “Well, if you wouldn’t mind Ms. Wicca-” The girl pinked at his politeness, “would you mind doing it for me?

            The witch surprised herself by laughing.

            “Of course!”

            Wicca produced the coin and after a couple of pretty flourishes, she made the coin disappear and reappear behind Papyrus’s ear. He clapped profusely (again, making her blush) and asked her to do it again. After the fifth time she gave the coin to him.

            “Why don’t you keep this,” She said, “And try to see if you can do it.”

            Papyrus’s eyes grew wide in surprise and managed a crooked grin.

            “Well, if the Wonderful Wicca can manage it, I can certainly try.” The skeleton grabbed the coin and walked to the bar.

            Wicca closed her eyes and mentally shook herself. She was good at keeping up an act, but everything that had happened severely drained her. Papyrus being so kind was a huge reprieve, but at the end of the day she was still exhausted She was impressed that she didn’t just keel over. She was dead tired and before she embarrassed herself by passing out (and maybe falling on Sans in the process, resulting in a highly ridiculous situation), she settled herself on the ground. Sure, a booth would have been better (and a lot comfier) but that requires  _effort_. Wicca let out a deep breath and closed her eyes, fully aware that Sans was still watching her. Yet, even though she knew that he would try to get rid of her at the first possible chance, she found herself not caring in the least. Goodbye short skeleton, hello slumber!

            “How did you do it.” His voice deep and soft, the tone not quite threatening, just enough to get across a warning. He didn’t want anyone to overhear.

            Wicca opened one eye and saw Sans looming over her. Before her sleep deprived brain could process, her mind instantly stitched together the scene from the forest. The merry sounds of Grillby’s shifted and distorted.  She was no longer in the warm bar, but back in the deep snow fighting to stay alive.  The Thing glowed in an orange and blue light, hands reaching for her, touching her. The Amalgamations were closing in, she had to fight back, she had to-

            “Well, kid?”

            Wicca gasped and blinked her eyes rapidly. The forest was gone and a confused skeleton in a faded blue jacket stood before her instead.

            “What?”

            “You know what you did.” He almost growled.

            “I don’t know, dude.” Wicca closed her eyes again. “I’ve been chased down and hunted, almost frozen to death, and you want me to explain how I do magic? Or would you like to know how I redirected your blue-” Wicca waved her hand around trying to find the right word, “-whatever it was?” Wicca opened her eyes and sat up. “Because your guess is as good as mine, bucko.”

            The skeleton remained silent.

            Wicca looked at Sans, really looked. She was wrong about him being short. He wasn’t as tall as the other skeleton, but if he didn’t slouch so much she was sure he would be taller than her. His hood was up and his jacket was zippered down just enough to show a bit of bone underneath. He wore tight legged soccer pants, baggy and skinny in all the right places. The most interesting thing about him, though, was the scar that stretched over his left eye socket. It reminded Wicca of the scratch marks she found in the ruined house. The scar came in a line of three, each jagged and grotesque. Sans didn’t hide behind it but treated it like any other part of himself; normal. Wicca briefly wondered how he got it, and how long he’d had it.

            “While we’re asking questions though, maybe you can answer a few of mine.” The girl crossed her legs Indian style. “What’s living in the house by the ruins?”

            Sans narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Wicca pursed her lips.

            “Why is nobody freaking out about what happened? They were attacked for Christ’s sake!”

            Again, no answer. Wicca fumed. Jesus, who the hell was this guy! Ever since he arrived he’d been nothing but a complete ass to her. There might be a logical explanation for it, but did Wicca want to stay cool and collected to think about it? NO! She wanted information, dammit!

            “Why are you such a dick?”

            This one caught the skeleton by surprise and Wicca would have laughed if she wasn’t so deathly serious about getting answers. She grabbed San’s drawstrings in her fist and pulled him down to her level, leaning in until her nose was almost touching his.

            “What does he want with me.”


	8. Embrace

_Wicca leaned in until her nose was almost touching his._

_“What does he want with me?”_

* * *

 

 

            If this was any other story, one might mistake the witch and skeleton as being locked in a loving embrace. Unfortunately for everyone involved, this was not the case.

            Wicca had managed to remove a card from her pouch and held it in her free hand, behind Sans’ back edging towards his spinal cord. Sans, meanwhile was failing at reining in his anger. His right eye started to flicker between blue and yellow.

            If it weren’t for Papyrus, almost everyone inside Grillby’s would have most certainly been traumatized. And possibly dead… Most definitely dead.

            Papyrus moseyed on over and flipped the coin with his thumb, slicing the air by their ears.

            The witch and skeleton blinked. They were so focused on each other they momentarily forgot their surroundings. Wicca quickly released Sans and stood up, dusting off invisible dirt. Sans in turn took a large step back, trying to get as much distance between them as he could.

            Papyrus, for his part, paid no mind.

            “Did you figure it out?” Wicca asked.

            The tall skeleton grinned widely and cocked a brow bone, “Of course I did”

            Wicca was surprised. To be frank, she didn’t think that he would ever be able to figure out the trick. This wasn’t looking too good for her, if the skeleton could do it so easily then Sans could call her “humanity” back into question again and the rest of the monsters would be more inclined to believe him.

            Papyrus held the golden coin up for Sans and Wicca to see, and then waved it back and forth. The coin wasn’t moving at all, the skeleton was just rotating his wrist while he held the coin. He raised his brow bone rapidly and dramatically, managing to get the witch to giggle.

            Then he threw it in the air and tried to catch it (he missed and had to awkwardly pick it back up all the while making the girl laugh harder). Wicca darted a glance towards Sans who was watching with a pained expression.

            For his grand finale, Papyrus tossed the coin back into the air, tilted his head back, and---swallowed it. Wicca stared in astonishment.

            “Ta da!” Papyrus opened his mouth wide and gave a very enthusiastic round of jazz hands. Wicca pressed her palm to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

            Sans shifted his weight and eyeballed Wicca, clearly annoyed that she was still there and had managed to capture the attention of the other skeleton so well. Papyrus was still stuck in his pose waiting for an applause and praise. Sans cleared his throat but before he could speak, Wicca started to whistle loudly.

            “Papyrus, that was great! You’ll just _have_ to teach me that.” The tall skeleton gave a hearty laugh. They both smiled at each other, the air sizzling with contentment. A harsh cough made them turn to find Sans looking annoyed.

            “Sans,” Papyrus wrapped an arm around Wicca and pulled her close, “She should stay with us tonight. I want to learn more about this magic that I apparently have a knack for.” The tall skeleton winked at the witch.

            Sans scowled and Wicca ducked out of Papyrus’s grip. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea Papyrus.” She said, waving her hands in front of her in retreat.

            “Yeah,” Sans jumped in, “She’s probably staying with  _someone else_ tonight.” Wicca blushed a deep scarlet, not liking what Sans was insinuating. She was about to give him hell with her own strategic comment, but just then she caught his eye. He gave her a barely perceivable nod and she understood. For now, they agreed on one thing only: getting the hell away from each other.

            Papyrus stared hard at the both of them and rubbed his chin a bit comically, “Somehow, I don’t think they will mind.” He then grabbed Wicca’s arm and pulled her outside before she could react, “Last one to the house is a rotten egg!” He let out a booming laugh that filled the night. Sans stood in the bar and smacked his face. Letting out a deep sigh, he followed after them.


	9. "Monstrist"

_Sans stood in the bar and smacked his face._

_Letting out a deep sigh, he followed after them._  

* * *

 

            Wicca found herself in a nice wooden house, much nicer than the one she was in before. For instance, this one didn’t have dried blood caking the floor, the furniture wasn’t torn to shreds, and oh! Lucky her, she didn’t have to worry about stepping on broken glass anymore.

            Other than two minor (eh…more like one major) panic attack at being thrust back outside into the Thing’s domain, Wicca was  _mostly_  fine now. She still felt twitchy and like she was going to vomit... Thankfully she hadn’t seen any suspicious shadows or bogeymen, maybe they had all just spontaneously died. Hopefully. It would make her life  _so_  much easier if that were the case.

            Wicca rubbed her wrist, skeleton hands weren’t exactly delicate. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, even accidentally but she was sure it would bruise soon. Before she could dwell on that thought (and some unpleasant memories stirring) Sans entered the room. Before he could glare at her, she stuck her tongue out at him.

            Sans just rolled his eyes. “Papyrus, I really don’t think you should be doing this.” He said with a serious tone and a pointed look at Wicca. The girl crossed her arms in turn, jerk.

            “I don’t know what you mean. Ms. Wicca has been nothing but nice-”

            Sans tried to interrupt but Papyrus barreled over him, “But if you want to get picky, it is getting late.” He grinned widely, “And you know what that means!”

            “Paps, no.”

              “Well, if you don’t want to, then I trust Ms. Wicca will stay here comfortably tonight.” Papyrus jumped up from the couch he was sitting on. “If you don’t mind, _I_ will be going to bed.” The tall skeleton walked up to the second floor and into a room. The witch blinked. What the hell?

            Sans let out a huff of air and walked up the staircase, “I’ll be right back. Don’t break anything.” He growled, then went into his own room.

            Wicca stifled a grin. She still wasn’t really sure where she was in the grand scheme of things, and so far everything had sucked. Like…really bad.

            But this? This was kind of nice. Well, aside from one skeleton hating her (from what she could tell) for no good reason. The other was fantastic. Maybe a bit…dramatic in some aspects but it was more benefit for those around him than for attention.

            The girl stretched, a small groan of exhaustion escaping her lips, and settled onto a lumpy couch. Wicca looked around and found five remotes just lying around. She looked up and saw a single T.V.

            “Well, that’s a bit over-kill.” She said to herself and tried each and every one until the old timey television turned on.

            Wicca felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She shuttered and turned to find a window that looked out into the forest. Rising from the couch, she swallowed a lump of dread. With uncertain steps, she walked over to the window. She was afraid of what she might see, of what might be out there. Wicca stretched a hand to the glass. It was ice cold, but she barely noticed. Her fingers fumbled for the latches. She had to know if it was him, she had to find out-

            “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice sliced through the air.

            The girl jumped, startled from her almost trance like behavior.

            “I-I wasn’t going to-I was j-just-” She stammered, trying to find a suitable excuse. What exactly had she tried to do anyways? Sans just watched her silently struggle.

            Wicca shrugged and changed tactic, “It was a bit warm in here, I was only trying to cool off.”

            Before Sans could refute her, she lightly stepped away from the window and sat back down on the couch.

            “Do you need something? She asked nonchalant.

            The skeleton’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.” He said leaning against the T.V., hands bunched into his pockets.

            “Well?” The girl prodded.

            “I don’t like that you’re here, but for some reason my brother likes you. I don’t see why.”

            Wicca glared but let the insult go, provoking him in his own house didn’t seem like the smartest decision when there was a crazy guy hunting her outside. Whether she liked it or not, she needed his protection (or rather, the protection of his house), but he didn’t have to know that. Besides, she was learning something new. She guessed that the skeletons were related, but Sans unwittingly confirmed their brotherly relation. It paid to shut up sometimes.

            “I need to know why you’re here.” He continued.

            The girl looked up sharply. Was he testing her?

            “A number of factors, actually.” Wicca stifled a yawn, “When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-”

            Sans’ pointed look stopped Wicca in her tracks, his eye flaming blue.

            “That isn’t what I meant.” He said it delicately and Wicca sensed that she was treading on thin ice.

            The girl dropped her sarcasm.

            “I…don’t know.” She managed, surprised at how truthful she sounded.

            “I live in a small cottage in the deep forest.” She lied, Sans may not buy her witch act but giving it up completely didn’t sound like a good idea. The skeleton crossed his arms and Wicca hurried to finish before he could call bullshit, “But I woke up today in a bed of yellow flowers.”

            If at all possible, Sans managed to look even more deathly serious than before. What did yellow flowers ever do to him? She was the one who had suffered their suffocating pollen. Jeez, he needed to stop being so grave dead all the damn time.

            “I was alone in the ruins. Everything was over grown and broken. Because I live so far away,” The girl added, “I don’t know who used to live in the great house I found.” Wicca looked at her shoes, letting the memories swallow her and take form.

            “It was completely trashed. Something had ripped apart the furniture, smashed all the glass, and died. There was… blood on the walls, in puddles on the floor.” Wicca choked back a sob. “I went to the fridge and when I opened it…I found it filled with the parts of monsters. Bones, fluid, gore. It was all there.”

            Wicca looked up at Sans while tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked hard, she would not cry in front of him.

            She would not.

            She would not.

            “But that wasn’t the worst part. Whatever had done this decided to come back. I had to hide until I found a way out. The Thing followed me into the forest, he..he-”

            Wicca didn’t know any way to say it other than, “He reminds me of you.”

            Sans took a step back, shocked.

            “Isn’t that a bit monstrist?” His joke fell flat in the wake of his nervousness.

            “No.” Wicca said delicately, “He has the same blue as you. I can feel it in my bones. It’s the static, yours and his are almost identical. The only difference is his orange, it makes everything more…warm.”

            The girl wasn’t sure if Sans was following her, but it was the only way she could describe the energy she felt flow through both of them. The energy was essentially magic in its own right, and for lack of a better understanding she decided that it  _was_  magic. There was no other explanation. 

            “You know him.” She said it slowly, more of a statement than a question.

            The skeleton’s eyes met the witch’s. They looked hurt, tortured. Lost.

            “Yes.”

            “What is his name?

            “Gaster.”


	10. Chocolate Mouth

_“You know him.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“What is his name?”_

_“Gaster.”_

* * *

 

            So her monster had a name now. Huh. She rolled the letters between her teeth.

            Gaster.

            The girl grinned wolfishly, well, he certainly was _ghastly._

            “Interesting…” Wicca said, “Did he do that to you?” She gestured towards the skeleton’s abrasions around his eye socket, “Or did his pets get to you instead?”

            Sans clenched his jaw and said nothing. He didn’t know how to get around her incessant questioning. He had come down to demand answers from her, not the other way around. Yet she kept managing to turn the tables on him.

            Wicca blew out a short breath, “Never mind, I don’t know why I bother asking you for anything.” Sans let the jab roll off him. “Fine then, I’ll give you an easy one. What do we do in the morning? You clearly want me gone.”

            Sans chuckled. “There is no _we_. In the morning you walk out that door and don’t come back. I don’t care where you go as long as you stay away from me and Paps.” He said coldly. His eye wasn’t blazing blue, but his heart surely was.

            Wicca shrunk back and felt tears pricking at her eyes. She didn’t want this. She never asked for this. And on top it all, a _fucking_ skeleton was kicking her onto the streets. He might as well give her a little bell and dress her as a present for Gaster while he was at it.

            The girl sucked in a deep breath. In, out. It would be fine. She’d survive, she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t want the protection that he afforded if it meant having to deal with his undeserved hate.

            “Okay.” She said quietly, “I’ll leave in the morning.”

            Sans raised his browbones in surprise. He had expected a fight, or at least an insult or two. The fact that she so readily agreed made him suspicious. He squinted at her, “Really, you’ll leave?”

            The girl rolled her eyes, “No, jackass, I’ll stay and mooch off you forever. I’ll make you my maid-” Wicca dramatically widened her eyes, “Or I could turn you into my own personal slave! You could-”

            “Okay, okay, I get it.” The skeleton turned around and started to walk back to his room.

            Wicca couldn’t help but to ask one last question, just for the sake of being a thorn in his side. “And what about your hands, did he do that to you as well?”

            Sans stiffened, Wicca had caught him off guard. The skeleton cursed; He had always been so careful to make sure nobody ever saw his hands. So far, only his brother knew… and now, Wicca. She must have felt them at the bar when he tried to stop her.

            “No. I did.”

            He was gone in a pop of static and whiff of ozone.

            “Well you didn’t need to be so dramatic about it.” Wicca said to the now empty air.

            She huffed and threw herself back into the couch. Wicca closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

            And waited.

            And waited.

            …And waited.

            The girl groaned. She had been completely burnt out not ten minutes ago, why couldn’t she go to sleep? Wicca sat up and turned the T.V. off, maybe a bit of silence would help.

            It didn’t.

            Wicca uttered a string of curses under her breath and rose from the couch. A glass of water should help. The girl padded over to the kitchen and quietly sorted through a series of cupboards. She came across a variety of different things (not all of them being kitchen related) until she found a chipped cup. After guzzling down two helpings, she laid back down on the couch. Nothing happened.

            Ugh.

            Wicca rubbed her hands against her face.

            _Fine._ She thought. _I don’t need to sleep, sleep is for the weak anyway._

            Wicca slid off the couch and made her way back to the kitchen. If she wasn’t going to rest, she might as well occupy herself with something to do. She also discovered that she was pretty hungry. Scratch that, starving. Now that she wasn’t pre-occupied by the constant threat of death or being on edge around Sans, her body screamed at her for fuel.

            The girl rummaged around for snacks, not really bothering to look at what she put into her mouth. Sometimes it paid off, other times it did not. She was pretty sure she ingested a small rock doused in glitter at one point. As she ransacked the kitchen, Wicca struck gold. She pulled out a colorful cookie box and couldn’t help from salivating.

            Girl-Scout Cookies!

            She had no idea how they had gotten down to the Underground, but holy hell did it not matter. The only thing that did was the fact that they were here and by God she was going to eat

            Every.

            Last.

            One.

            Wicca attacked the box similar to how a hyena would feast on its prey; messily and with a lot of grunting. She reached her very last cookie and could already feel the sweet chocolate and coconut-caramel crunch in her mouth; but at the last possible second, her grip slipped and the cookie went flying. It hit the ground and rolled around the counter. Wicca dove like a madman, trying to get to the sacred cookie before it could be tainted by the five second rule. Just as her fingers locked around the Godly sweetness, Wicca’s left knee sunk into the ground and a small doorway opened in the wall.

            What.

            The girl smashed the cookie into her mouth before she looked inside the hide-away. Cautiously, she stepped inside. Thankfully the doorway didn’t close behind her as she walked inside the new room. Automatic lights turned on full blast and blinded the girl.

            Blinking away the brightness, she found herself in a sort of lab. The walls and floor were bare white tile. Other than a short counter adjacent to Wicca and a tarp torn to tatters in a corner, the room was bare. Wicca walked over to the grey tarp and looked under. Whatever the tarp had covered was long gone, only a burn mark and a screw remained.

            Nothing was on the plain countertop, but Wicca did find something in the drawers. She held it up to the light. It appeared to be some kind of book. When she opened it she found Sans’ name scrawled on the top left side of the back cover.

            Wicca grinned. This was more like it.

 

            LOG I-

            TWO MONSTERS WENT MISSING LAST NIGHT. NOBODY KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM. NO DUST WAS LEFT BEHIND, NO SIGN OF STRUGGLE WAS FOUND.

 

            LOG II-

            IT HAPPENED AGAIN. A SINGLE MONSTER LIVING BEYOND THE EDGE OF SNOWDEN NEVER MADE IT INTO TOWN. SOME SAY IT MIGHT BE THE HEAVY SNOWSTORMS THAT CAN DRIVE LONLEY MONSTERS INTO INSANITY. OTHERS SAY GREYMAN HAS RETURNED.

            I KNOW THAT IT IS NEITHER.

 

            LOG III-

            SOME OF THE MONSTERS HAVE STARTED TO FORGET ABOUT THE DISAPPEARENCES. I COULD CHALK IT UP TO THEM MOVING ON, BUT IT IS TOO CONVIENENT, TOO EASY. SNOWDEN IS A COZY TOWN WITH LOVING OCCUPENTS. WHEN GIFT BEAR FELL ILL PRACTICALLY EVERYONE IN TOWN STOPPED BY TO HELP. SOMETHING IS CAUSING THIS.

            SOMEBODY IS DOING THIS.

            I’M AFRAID THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO TO STOP IT.

 

            Wicca raised an eyebrow. It was clear Sans knew that Gaster was behind everything, or he suspected Gaster at the very least. The monsters of Snowdin forgetting everything wasn’t exactly news to Wicca either. When she woke up in Grillby’s after Gaster showed up, nobody was panicked or worried. They acted like their lives hadn’t been in danger, or that there wasn't danger still out there. It was strange behavior, but at least Wicca had confirmation. Gaster somehow managed to wipe the memories of himself and his pets from the occupants of Snowdin.

            The truly worrying part (aside from the disappearances and memory loss) was that Sans didn’t think he could fend off Gaster, or even protect Snowdin.

            If Sans couldn’t do anything about Gaster, what the hell was Wicca supposed to do? Her ‘magic’ wouldn’t help her, and she only had so many cards. She wasn’t part of this world, she had no business in it. The overwhelming need to leave made her chest hurt. She was itching for a home that she didn’t even remember.

            Wicca put down the log book and sighed. With a burst of relief, she felt her eyelids droop. She was finally tired…again. Not wanting to waste it, she booked it over to the couch (making sure to de-pressurize the plate that had opened the doorway) and laid her head on a pillow.

            She needed to figure out how to get out of the Underground. Back on the Surface there were no such thing as bogeymen lurking in the night (at least she hoped so, she wasn’t entirely sure).

            But first; some sleep.

            .

            .

            .

            _Who was ‘Greyman’?_


	11. Notebook & Bandana

_She needed to figure out how to get out of the Underground. Back on the Surface there were no such things as bogeymen lurking in the night._

_But first; some sleep._

* * *

 

            True to her word, Wicca left the house in the morning before anybody woke up. She cast one last look over her shoulder. She would miss Papyrus, he was the only one who had shown compassion and kindness.

            Wicca grabbed her shoulders and shivered. She had stupidly forgotten her cloak at Grillby’s the other night, although she hadn’t much chance of grabbing it before Papyrus lugged her off. The girl walked through town, trying to find the bar. That fur cloak had saved her ass from freezing to death before, there was no way she was going to leave it behind.

            The girl was careful to position herself away from the forest as much as possible while she walked to Grillby’s. It felt wrong that Gaster would attack in the daylight, but Wicca wasn’t going to take any chances. She was as high strung as a jack rabbit, if the wind so much as rustled through the trees she would be gone.

            Through a stroke of luck Wicca happened upon the bar. No open or closed sign was visible from what she could tell, so she shrugged and went on in.

            Grillby the fire elemental was cleaning off some tables. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He waved his hand toward a door in the back then went back to his chores. Wicca walked hesitantly over and lightly pushed the door open. On the other side was a small kitchen and a cardboard box resting on a steel table. The girl sorted through the box and found a couple of odd items; an over-sized snail being chief among them. It feebly waved to her when she set it aside. Thankfully it didn’t take long to find what she came for, and she hugged the cloak to her body. Just as she was about to leave, she spied a leather pocket book. She raised an eyebrow, she was a total sucker for leather.

            As she removed the small notebook and put it into her purse pouch, a piece of fabric caught her eye. Wicca carefully removed it and held it in her hand. It might have been a bandana at some point, but now it resembled some torn scrap instead. With a shrug she tied it on her belt.

            Wicca turned and walked back to the front door of the bar. She waved at Grillby in thanks and was about to step outside when she had an idea.

“Hey, Grillby. Quick question for ya…”


	12. Well...Shit

_“Hey, Grillby. Quick question for ya…”_

* * *

 

            Sans walked into Grillby’s and resisted the urge to jump for joy. Wicca had actually left, _and_ she had left without a fuss. She said that she would’ve, but Sans hadn’t bought what she put down-        

                                                                                                                                                               “And what would you like this morning?”

            -It was such a relief when he woke up and she wasn’t downstairs. He didn’t know where she went or where she logically could’ve gone, but he did know that he didn’t care-

                                                                                                                                           “Mmhm, with a side of..?”

 -She was out of his house, she was out of Snowdin. She was simply gone and maybe he could go about forgetting her-

                                                                                                          “Would you like lemon with that?”

 -Although something about her completely unnerved him…her being able to manipulate his energy being a top contender-

                                                                                “Alright, your order is coming right up!”

 -And what had she said last night? Something about how his ‘static’ (whatever the hell _that_ was) was similar to-

                                       “Oh, of course I can do a little trick for you!”

            Sans stopped in his tracks.

                        “Here, keep it-”

            _Motherfu-_

     “-and try it yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this chapter at 2 in the morning and when I woke up to edit it (and delete it) I still really liked the concept...so I kept it. 
> 
> I understand its a bit strange and can be confusing. The word processor I use lets me mess around with the font, and I manipulated the font size to give Wicca's dialogue the appearance of sounding far away. It looks pretty cool, but unfortunately archiveofourown doesn't support differing font sizes. 
> 
> If anyone knows of a way to bypass this, I would love to hear how. I very much like to be visually creative with my text (I've dialed it back a looooot) and its unfortunate that I can't share what I think adds to my writing with you guys.  
> Thanks for reading the long note kiddos.


	13. Explosive Confrontation

_“Oh, of course I can do a little trick for you!”_

_Sans stopped in his tracks._

_“Here, keep it-”_

Motherfu-

_“-and try it yourself.”_

* * *

 

            “Is there anything I can get for you sir?”

            Dressed in a pristine white lace shirt and ruffled black skirt, Wicca grinned at Sans. The shirt was almost skin tight (if she breathed too deeply she was afraid the buttons would pop off) and she wasn’t wearing any shoes, just slightly torn gartered thigh highs. She had gone back into Grillby’s lost and found box to scrounge up a good enough working outfit. To keep her witchy personal, she liberated various gem necklaces and rings. She decided not to part with her hat or belt and had added various dangly-sparkly-things to adorn both. The effect left her feeling brilliant and unstoppable, but the look Sans gave her made her giddy.

            The skeleton took a comically long time to process the situation. In fact, he took so long Wicca began to worry. He was just looking at her, not doing or saying anything. She had wanted an explosion, some fireworks, anything! His white pinpricks vanished, leaving a vacant socket behind.

            Wicca took a tentative step forward. Things were starting to get awkward now.

            “Sir?”

            Finally he snapped out of whatever funk he had been in, turned right back around and slammed the door on his way out. Wicca snorted. This wasn’t the reaction she wanted, but it would suffice. She turned back to her customers and got on with her work.

            Wicca hadn’t got a job at Grillby’s just to mess with Sans (although that was a lovely bonus). She needed to figure out the environment that she was in. So far all she knew was that humans were bad…and that was pretty much it. As she worked the tables around her though, she picked up little snippets of information.

            “-King Asgore condemned the Royal Labs?”

            “-going to Waterfall tonight and watch the echo flowers bloom-”

            “-snowstorms are getting worse!”

            “I can’t stand Hotland, it-”

            All of it was useful. Wicca coveted each conversation; whenever there was a lull she took out her notebook and wrote down everything she heard. With all the information floating around she tried her hand at making a map. It was crude and most likely not accurate in the least, but it was a start.

            Her feet had started to ache from walking on the hard-wood floor without any shoes. Thankfully her shift was over, and she had already started to wipe down the tables. She had quickly decided mid-day that footware was a must and quickly pulled them on during a lull between the lunch and dinner rush. (yay boots!). Screw appearances, her bare feet might look more “witchy” but it sure as hell didn’t feel so good.  

            A powerful slam startled her and she almost dropped her cleaning rag. She looked up to find an angry Sans looming in the doorway.

            She couldn’t help but smile slyly as she said, “Sorry sir, but we’re closed.”

            Sans moved closer and Wicca took an involuntary step back. He was trying-and failing-at keeping his cool.

            “I need to speak to her.” He said to Grillby, who was shining some glasses behind the bar, “In privet.”

            Wicca didn’t know if Grillby responded (she didn’t know if he _could_ ) because Sans was already dragging her into a supply closet.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

            Sans forcefully closed the door. Wicca grimaced, couldn’t he have picked the kitchen? It was a _lot_ more spacious than the closet. Their bodies were pressed together, and Wicca couldn’t look anywhere but at him. She resisted the urge to claw his eyes out but rubbed her wrists instead. She had been right about them bruising the day before, and Sans had just made it worse.

            “You told me that you would be gone by morning.” The skeleton growled, his teeth edging a bit too close to Wicca’s throat.

            Wicca couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, and I did.” Sans was about to respond when she cut him off, “You didn’t see me at all when you woke up, did you?”

            Sans didn’t answer.

            “Exactly, now if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll be going-”

            The skeleton snagged her waist and pressed her against the wall roughly.

            “You said that you would be gone. Out of Snowdin, out of my life.” His voice was like thunder.

            “No, all I said was I would be gone _by morning_. Morning’s past. And either way, I never said that I would leave Snowdin.” Wicca snarled back.

            “That wasn’t the deal!”

            “There was no deal!”

            The witch pulled the cuff of his faded jacket, pressing her face into his while he tightened his grip around her waist, digging his bones into her hip. They struggled to keep their breathing under control, each itching to tear the other apart.

            “All you’ve done is cause trouble, you should have left.”

            “All _I_ do is cause trouble? Whoa boy, _I_ just got here! And did you forget, I saved your sorry ass last night. If it wasn’t for me Gaster would be spit roasting you over a fire!”

            “I wouldn’t call that saving anybody, all _you_ did was slam a damn door. _I_ did all the hard work after you fell asleep. Besides, _you’re_ the one who dragged Gaster here!”

            “What was I supposed to _do_? Where was I supposed to _go_?!”

            “Anywhere but here!”

            “I don’t know anything about ‘here’! I’m not even from _‘here’_!”

            Sans cut her a look, a smirk slowly spread across his face. “So you admit it, you’re human, aren’t you.” He said it quietly, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. His eye flamed blue and a familiar hum sang between them.

            Wicca grew silent, her eyes going wide. She pushed away from him, needing air to breathe.

            A low static buzz filled her head. As Sans and her shouted, it had started to grow. It slowly became more dense, more lively. The energy had started to flow into both of them. A part of her had pushed back, afraid. Now she let it pour in, the energy cackling in her ears; it rose and fell, thrumming against her heart. It was a current traveling through her body sending miniscule shocks that crescendoed into massive jots. Her finger tips started to spark, her eyes began to glow. She was scared, but more than anything she was _angry_.

            Witch and skeleton both collided in a flash of dazzling blue and purple. Wicca barely registered a loud ripping sound before she felt herself falling away. The last thing she saw was Sans tumbling into a void.

            .

            .

            .

            .

            .

            The girl gasped and jerked herself up. Snow sloughed off her body and she shivered against the cold. She hissed in pain as she pulled herself up. Her hands were raw and blackened at the tips of her fingers. It felt like her bones had split into small fragments. In her pain she almost didn’t notice a dark figure in the distance. As it got closer the shape began to look familiar to her.

            “Sans?” She called.

            The figure stopped briefly, and then began to move towards her, faster.

            “Sans!” The girl felt immense relief flooding through her. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she was glad to see a familiar face, even if it _was_ Sans. Sans would yell at her and she’d be able to ignore her pain by insulting him. It would work out perfectly.

            The skeleton stepped into sight as the girl trembled in the chill air. She couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

            “Dude, what the hell are you wearing?” She moved closer to him and giggled through her pain.

            “Look, you do you…but come on, red turtleneck with yellow stripped shorts?” The girl tisked in mock disappointment, “Have some fashion sense man.”

            It wasn’t until his shadow fell across her and she saw a glint of gold did she begin to feel nervous. The static that she was used to began to feel strange, off… almost foreign. It wasn’t the usual blue that she had associated with the Sans she knew. This was different…it was darker, violent.

She almost didn’t see the chain coming at her before it was too late.

            The girl dodged at the last second and the chain fell harmlessly into the snow. When she looked back up, she found a demonic smile staring back.

            It swallowed her whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo.  
> I'll be leaving the country for 9 days, so this will be it for just a bit.  
> A new chapter will go up on 8/10, see you then!


	14. Blackened Fingertips and Breaking Bones

_She found a demonic smile staring back._

_It swallowed her whole._

* * *

 

             “S-Sans? What are you doing?” Wicca’s voice was small.

            Abrupt, harsh laughter pierced her ears, “Look doll face, I dunno why you think I know you.” Sans whipped his hand and the chain flew at her, grazing her on the cheek. She tentatively touched a finger to the cut and watched her blood spill over.

            “But let’s get something straight here, love.” The skeleton grinned and flexed his arm. The chain once again flew from his grip and narrowly missed Wicca.

            “You are _mine_.”

            Sans erupted in a flame of red and the witch could feel a low rumble in the ground. Tips of white started to force their way through the cold, hard ground. The witch’s eyes grew wide as she realized what they were: abnormally large bones. As they pushed their way up, Sans whipped his chain again and it wound its way around Wicca’s wrist.

            The harsh bite of the metal snapped her into focus. She yanked her arm back and felt a deep satisfaction as the Sans that wasn’t Sans stumbled backward.

            “How about this,” The girl growled, “You clearly are not the person I know and lovingly hate with all my heart. Let me the _fuck_ go and you won’t get hurt, I pinky promise.”

            The skeleton laughed and responded by tugging at the chain, sending the girl sprawling in the snow.

            The bones were starting to form a tight cage around Wicca. She wearily eyed their advancement. That would have to be dealt with, but first she needed to get off her leash.

            With one quick motion Wicca snapped her cards into her hand (wincing through the pain of her blackened finger tips) and flicked one as hard as she could. The Queen of Spades sailed through the air and sliced clean through the chain Anti-Sans was holding. She was tempted to laugh at his bewildered expression, but she had more pressing concerns. Wicca whirled around and ungracefully shoved her way through the rapidly decreasing gap between the protruding bones. She managed to just barely pop out before they crushed her.

            Panting from the excursion, the witch turned tail and ran. Could she have completely crushed the wacked out skeleton? Pfft, of course! Was she going to try? Hell to the no. She wasn’t quite sure where she was exactly, but she knew with unwavering certainty that she wasn’t where she belonged… and not in the way that she was used to; here the very _air_ felt like it was attacking her.

            Wicca got surprisingly far before he caught up to her. One second he wasn’t there, and the next he just-blinked-into existence. He managed to do…whatever the hell he just did so fast Wicca ran straight into him. He caught the cut chain that dangled from her wrist and drew her in close.

            The static he emitted was toxic. The buzz made her go dizzy from contact. She struggled to keep her mind straight when all she wanted to do was let it _in_. Last time that happened though, things didn’t end well. (i.e. what was happening right now. Yeah, this sucked.)

            A long, red tongue snaked its way out of his mouth and pressed up against Wicca’s laceration, catching the blood that dribbled out.

            Wicca pushed herself away and lightly touched her cheek in absolute bafflement.

            “Did-did you just? Did you just lick me?” The witch let out a burst of giggles.

            The skeleton just stared.

            “You can’t j-just lick someone!” Wicca grabbed her stomach and laughed.

            “You totally-I can’t believe-”

            The skeleton began to shuffle, uncomfortable.

            “You even sucked my blood! T-this isn’t some Twilight shit-I could totally have aids AND YOU LICKED ME!”

            Wicca couldn’t contain herself and let out a howling cackle, “Oh my god! Look, sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing-” she tried and failed at reining herself in, “But dude! You just l-l-icked me! You d-d-don’t just lick-k someone!”

            Tears started to stream out of her eyes and she grabbed the skeleton to keep herself upright.

            “I can’t, I’m so sorry but I really can’t.” The girl chortled, “You licked me man, you licked me. WHOOO!” Wicca fanned herself, “Okay, I’m better now. Where were we?”

            The witch couldn’t keep a straight face and giggled while the skeleton blushed a deep red.

            “Oh, I remember now.”

            Wicca quickly sliced the skeleton with a Jack. The card cut into his bone and stuck there. The witch took the opportunity to kick the skeleton in the chest, dazing him more than actually hurting him.

            Before she could strategically retreat (or run away, again), he snapped his fingers and a bone appeared out of nothing. It barreled straight through Wicca with a sickening crunch. A spray of blood spurt out of her mouth on impact and she grunted in surprise. She looked down to find it protruding from her lower torso, a deep red had already started to lubricate her exposed abdomen. She looked up to find him smirking, a sliver of red smoking from his fingertips.

            She tried to grab the bone and bit back a scream instead. Her hands shook in reaction to the static that permeated the bone. The energy painfully crashed against her. The bones in her own hands vibrated violently, throbbing with the flow of power. She managed to lightly touch the foreign object with her fingers and this time she couldn’t hold back her cry of anguish.

            The second she touched it, the bones in her hands felt as if they were shattering over and over again. The tips of her fingers, which were already blackened from before, began to burn. Even the skeleton took a couple steps back when he saw what was happening to her. Her bones began to crack loudly, splintering and fragmenting. Only when she took her hands off did it stop, and they slowly began to heal. Piece by piece, the fractures mended: phalange, metacarpal, carpal, all stitched together painfully. It was just as tortuous as when they broke, if not more so.

            Wicca whimpered in agony as the last of her bones snapped into place. The skeleton made a quick gesture and the femur in her side vanished. The girl collapsed onto the snow, already turning it blood red.

            She barely registered him lifting her up and the smell of ozone. One minute they were in a white field of ice cold, the next they were by a fire. She could feel the sharpness of a needle digging into her skin, but it quickly fell away to a dull nothingness. She was dimly aware that he was sewing her gaping wound, and she would have laughed if she’d have the strength to. Instead, she met his eye.

            “Didn’t figure you the type to save my life.” She slurred.

            “Love, after I fix you up, you’ll wish you died out there.”

            “What?”

            “If I wanted you before, then I need you now. What happened back there…” The Sans that wasn’t Sans licked his lips seductively, “That makes you priceless, baby doll.”


	15. We Don't Talk About Papyrus

_“What happened back there…”_

_The Sans that wasn’t Sans licked his lips seductively,_

_“That makes you priceless, baby doll.”_

           

* * *

 

 

            Wicca watched the skeleton work. She wasn’t sure if it mattered what he did now, she was worried that she lost too much blood already. She yelped in pain as the needle slid under her skin and came out the other side. But if he _was_ going to save her, he could be a bit more delicate about it.

            When he was finished he stepped back to survey his work. He nodded his head in satisfaction, clearly pleased with what he’d done. Wicca looked down and blanched, the stitches were uneven and messy. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe the now crusting blood from the closed wound. If blood loss didn’t kill her, this shoddy job most certainly would.

            The witch blinked through the haze that surrounded her. Her skin was already pale and clammy. Her head throbbed and her wound blazed. She needed to figure out a way to get back and away from wherever the hell this place was. Wicca grinned at the irony.

            “Where’s Papyrus?” She mumbled after the retreating skeleton

            The Sans that wasn’t Sans whipped around and glared, his eye already taking on a red hue.

            Wicca wasn’t quite sure why she got that reaction, and normally she’d cherish it like the Sadist she was, but this Sans was too unpredictable.

            He stalked closer and growled out, “Why would a pretty thing like you want with a monster like him?”

            The girl crinkled her nose. She knew she was in rough water, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to float through the fog in her brain to spar with him. She was starting to twitch and shiver, it was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

            “Don’t call-don’t call me pretty.”

            Wicca slumped over and the only thing preventing her from falling off the table was by leaning against the corrupted skeleton. She breathed jaggedly and struggled to sit back up. She didn’t have the strength and had to cling to him instead. She hated that he enjoyed it.

            Her hands started to throb in a familiar way as she held onto him and she whimpered as the static touched her.

            “Awh, doll, no need to be upset,” the skeleton lifted her chin, “I’ll make you all better.”


	16. The "Doctor"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really appreciate feedback. It's hard to keep going if I don't know if anyone is actually enjoying this story or not. I would LOVE constructive criticism.

_“Awh, doll, no need to be upset…_

_…I’ll make you all better.”_

* * *

 

 

            Wicca let out a rasping laugh, splattering a spray of blood across the skeleton’s large hoody. She felt a small ping of satisfaction at staining the white fur lined hood.

            “Good luck with that, **_dolly_** ,” She snarled, “There won’t be much of me left to make better.”

            The skeleton gave her a quizzical look, which only sent the girl into a fit of coughing laughter.

            “You can’t be serious!” She said, astonished.

            The skeleton just blinked in response.

            “I hate to break it to you, **_love_** , but I’m a bit squishier than you. I don’t have a cage of bone as a body, only on the inside. It’s a bit of a setback.”

            He reached up and scratched the back of his skull and darted his eyes to the side. He _still_ wasn’t getting it.

            “Look pal, you impaled me. Stitching me up as _lovingly_ as you did won’t fix it. I kinda have these things called organs, and you probably-definitely-hit one of ‘em.”

            The skeleton furrowed his brow bone and made a gesture with his hand as if to say _-and so?_

            “ _So-_ ” The witch grit her teeth against the pain and his ignorance, “I’m dying, **_sugar_** , my insides are ruptured and bleeding. Unless you have a doctor lying around somewhere, I won’t be around to play with much longer.”

            She glared up at him, a hand firmly pressed against her side. She saw the light in his eyes flare up in understanding.

            “Took you long enough.” She muttered.

            “I should just let you die, then!” He snapped back, sick of her attitude.

            “I know pain and suffering is your MO, Mr. Edgy-McEdgypants, but think about it. If you let me die, you get short term satisfaction. If you just _fucking_ save me, you get to watch me suffer for a longer time. Now what is it going to be.”

            She was being too aggressive. She shouldn’t push him like this. She didn’t know him well, _thank God_ , but she knew enough to know that acting like this would get her nowhere. But she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to use her wit and cunning. Her damn fever and pain were eclipsing all common sense.

            He grounded his teeth, red already steaming out of a single socket.

            “Fine.” He growled, “I’ll take you to a _doctor_ , love.” He said the word mockingly, “But you’ll regret it. Oh, pet, you’ll regret it.” The skeleton chuckled and walked away.

            “Believe me, I’d much rather be snorting flowers right now.” It came out as a whisper, her strength failing.

            When he came back, he was whistling a jaunty tune and spinning a little cord in his hand. Turns out, the cord wasn’t actually a cord.

            It’s a leash.

            The witch struggled to get away as he advanced, but her fine motor skills were already mush. The synapses in her head weren’t firing fast enough. He easily grabbed her ankle and twisted, pulling her closer. He leaned on top of her, placing a tight collar around her neck and easily clipped the leash on while she squirmed under him.

 She let out little gasps of pain as her head pounded and her wound throbbed. She scrabbled at the collar, trying to find the clip to release it. The skeleton easily batted her hands away and he tutted in disappointment.

            “Nuh-uh, you play by my rules, dolly. I’ll get you your doctor, and I’ll have me a nice pet.” His golden tooth glinted in the awful, artificial light as he grinned woofishly. “I’ve got one more present.” He reached into his oversized black hoody and pulled out a metal caged muzzle.

            “You’re not serious!” The witch cried, and again tried to scramble back. But he pinched her leash and flicked his wrist, propelling her forward. He easily pinned her arms behind her with one hand, and with the other pulled the muzzle on.

            Her hands instantly went up to the metal cage as she hyperventilated.

            The skeleton just laughed and tugged on her leash. She fell to the ground with a sloppy smack. She let out a yowl of pain as blood spurted between her lips and dripped to the floor. She gripped her side protectively, almost cradling it.

            “ _You **asshole**_.” She coughed out.

            He leaned down close, feeling her wheezing breath on his face. Casually, he lifted his hand and-

**_SMACK-_ **

            Wicca’s eyes grew wide and she tentatively touched her cheek, already red and tender. Her half-dead brain was trying to process what happened as she trembled on the cold-hard ground. But all that came to her were distorted memories:

            _A man-or a boy? Fading, edging into the landscape. Yelling, screaming. Panic, terror, **anger** in his voice. Violence, flaring up. A smack, cutting clear through the air. _

_“What did you do?! What did you do!”_

            -and then it was gone, the skeleton already pulling her across the floor. She scrambled to get up and let out a hiss of pain as she stood.

            The skeleton looked back and an ugly look crossed his face. Before he could yank her to the ground, she had a playing card between her black finger tips.

            “I’ll go along with being your little _pet_ , but I will not crawl on the ground like an animal.” She clenched her teeth, her voice deep and husky. The skeleton lifted his lip in a snarl, but the sound of a door being slammed opened froze him in place.

            His eyes just ever so slightly grew larger, his hands faintly shaking, his breath somewhat ragged.

            “Just hurry up.” He growled, then wrenched the leash painfully.

            They must’ve been in a basement, for they ascended some damaged wooden steps and stopped in a little alcove before the ground floor.

            “What’re we waiting for?” Wicca asked, rubbing her throat.

            “Sh!”

            The witch rolled her eyes, “Well then.” She mouthed silently.

            But a figure stepped into view and caught her full attention. She gasped.

            “Papyrus?”

            But it wasn’t Papyrus. Just like the skeleton beside her, the same skeleton who had nearly killed her (and still might), wasn’t Sans.

 _Sans_.

            Wicca felt a pang of longing. What she wouldn’t do to see Sans again, _her_ sans. And if she was saying that, then well…

 

            _This_ Papyrus may be of the same built and the same name, but that was it. Decked out in armored spikes he couldn’t be more different than her denim jacket wearing, beautifully kind Papyrus. The only thing they seemed to have in common was the scarf, but even _that_ was the wrong color. Where as this one had on a red, ratty one, _her_ Papyrus wore a nice multi-colored fluffy one. The pants were spot on though…Wicca wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Everything _else_ was completely wrong. This one radiated a dark, buzzing static that made the witch nervous.

            He disappeared in a room up a different set of stairs. With a quick tug, the wrong Sans was pulling her away from the alcove, through a door, and outside into Snowden.

            The cave ceiling was starting to blacken, signifying the oncoming night. Wicca repressed bafflement and kept the question (how could the inside of a cave have its own daylight and nightlight?) to herself.

            They walked to the edge of town, not coming across a single monster. At one-point Wicca thought she saw a shadow stalking them, but Sans let out a low growl and it scampered away.

            They walked, and walked, and walked. They walked through fields of beautiful glowing flowers, they walked across cascading waterfalls, they walked into a scalding desert like wasteland.

            _Is this the Hotlands?_ Wicca found herself asking. She only had the tiniest bit of information she gathered not hours before from Grillby’s to help her, but she was quite sure that it was. If a place is called Hotlands and one happens across a hot land, well…

              They stopped at a dilapidated building that Wicca managed to dine as a lab of some sort (The Royal Labs?). The skeleton pushed a tiny button and spoke quietly into a little speaker. The witch couldn’t hear him over the whine in her head and the stabbing in her side.

            An automated door revealed the inside of the lab, and the skeleton dragged her in. They passed by strange artifacts of “science”. Down they went, into the belly of the beast. Wicca could hear faint screaming in the distance, and her stomach cramped at the sound. She cast a nervous glance at her captor.

            “I thought we were going to a doctor?”

            “We are.”

            “This isn’t exactly a clinic.”

            At last they arrived at an open room. All sorts of beeping and machinery could be heard. As well as a low muttering. Wicca noticed the skeleton gulp before they plunged in.

            The lights were bright and blinding, the witch had to hold a hand to her eyes and squint. She could see a metal table with some sort of object on it, a man bent over in a lab coat sounding peeved, and a little yellow something darting around.

            Wicca blinked and blinked. And blinked again. The light was no longer affecting her, but she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A large pool of scarlet was gathered around the object on the table. But it wasn’t really an object, now was it? Wicca gasped and held a hand to her mouth.

            Twisted and distorted. Limbs arranged in a pattern that was not monstrously (or even humanly) possible. Skin and scales pulled apart, revealing masses underneath. A rotting, copper, vomit-inducing smell swirling in the air. A flat line, then

-dust.

            Just gone, in an instant. The man in the coat threw his scalpel down, scattering the dust and ash.

            “Take it out of here.” A measured voice instructed.

            The yellow darting _thing_ stepped up and began to wheel the table out of the room. It brushed past her, twitching.

            And then, the man in the coat turned around.

            Wicca’s stomach dropped.

            Because it wasn’t exactly a man.

            Because that would be too simply, wouldn’t it?

            Because fate really likes to push the swirling, unyielding envelope of life.

            Because the witch was looking at Gaster.

            And he was looking back at her.


	17. Yellow Monsters and Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, constructive criticism is highly encouraged!

_Because it wasn’t exactly a man._

_Because that would be too simple, wouldn’t it?_

_Because fate really likes to push the swirling, unyielding thing called life._

_Because the witch was looking at Gaster._

_And he was looking back at her._

* * *

 

 

The Sans that wasn’t Sans pulled her into the room by her leash. Wicca tried to dig her heels into the tile, resulting in the skeleton dragging her over the threshold.

            The witch felt like she was going to vomit. The one person-or rather _thing_ -she had been trying to avoid this entire time was standing not even five feet from her. Her insides squished together as Sans continued to drag her closer.

            “ _This is wrong, this is wrong._ _It isn’t_ him, _just like Sans isn’t Sans, just like Papyrus isn’t Papyrus..._ ”

            “Is this the fine specimen that you managed to damage, Little Red?”

            It took a minute for Wicca to realize that Gaster had spoken, and even longer to realize what he said. She would have laughed right in “ _Little Red’s_ ” mortified face, but all she could manage was a faint smirk before she had to grip the table beside her for support. She was fading, fast. Somehow in _this_ Underworld, being a scientist also qualified for being a doctor (There _totally_ isn’t _anything_ sketchy about that. Nope. Not at all.) but Wicca didn’t have enough time to complain. She was going to die, and she’d rather not do that now, thank you very much.

            “Yes, she is.” Wicca butt in before ‘Little Red’ could say anything, “but not without inflicting her own damage first.”

            The skeleton glared at Wicca and fingered a large scratch across his face where the witch’s Joker once sliced through.

            Gaster threw his head back and laughed, the crescent of his eye crinkling oddly. He took the girl’s hand and drew her close. She held her breath as he closely examined her. A long, skeletal finger lightly traced her visible wound. His touch sent shocks of pain shooting through her body, and a familiar thrum vibrated in her hands.

            (Uh oh)

            The older skeleton’s mouth curled back into an evil snarl. His head shot up, eyes finding the younger skeleton.

            “It’s about time you learned how to properly stitch a wound, you imbecile.”

            Gaster began to clench Wicca’s hand tight as he yelled, and her fingers fractured in a jagged line. She shrieked in pain as a jolting energy swept through her cracking bones. The same thing that had happened with Sans was happening, again. Only this time, Wicca couldn’t let go.

            The older skeleton peered curiously at the witch as her fingers fissured, Sans and his mistake all but forgotten. He squeezed her hand tight, inquisitively, and her vision swam with dots of deep black.

            “G-get OFF!” The witch screamed.

            Gaster merely smiled, then crushed her dainty hand in his.

            Wicca felt all the air in her lungs collapse as her bones erupted through her skin.

            With an ear-splitting screech, the witch stood as tall as she could and _slammed_ her head against the skeleton’s skull. He instantly stumbled back, holding his jaw. His vacant eye sockets blazed a deep red as Wicca’s bones began to reform.

            Her knuckles clicked together just as a disembodied hand threw her onto the operating table. The wind was knocked out of her, and she tried to cradle her still mending hand while protecting her now reopened wound. She found that she couldn’t get up. The adrenaline and pure willpower that had kept her going was completely drained. Her stitches had opened up and her blood had already soaked through her hand.

            “I-I think that’s enough, Big Boss?”

            Sans stepped tentatively forward, getting in between the witch and older skeleton.

            “You _think_?”

            His eyes flickered.

            “You can play with her after you fix her, Gaster.”

            Gaster stood up straight and raised a brow bow. “I am not _Gaster_ to you, I am-”

            “-Going to get dusted if you don’t stitch up my pet.” Sans growled.

            The older skeleton narrowed his eyes.

            “And what makes you think I would do that?”

            “I can get you Undyne.”

            Gaster chuckled and turned his attention back to Wicca, who could only try to muster up an intimidating face as a defense.

            “I know she’s trying ta’ shut you down, Big Boss. I know that what you’re doin’ down here…,” Sans paused and flicked a surgical hemostat to the floor, “…ain’t exactly what our King wants, now’s it?”

            The two skeletons stared one another down. With an annoyed grunt, Gaster snapped his fingers and the yellow blubbering thing from before entered the room.

            “I expect to be fully compensated when I am finished.” The older skeleton said and turned to examine his instruments.

            The monster was hurrying about the operating room, grabbing clean surgical towels and fishing out a new sterilized hemostat. As the yellow reptilian fluttered around, she accidentally knocked a tray over, sending gauze and towel clamps scattering to the ground.

            “Alphys!” The name whipped the monster, and she stumbled back as if from a physical blow. Gaster stalked closer and kicked the reptilian. Alphys went down with a sloppy _thud_ and whimpered, not daring to fight back. Her gaze darted around the room, too afraid to look at anything for too long. Gaster turned his back to her and walked to a nearby sink.

            Wicca made a sound in disgust at the sight of Gaster’s treatment of his assistant. Alphys jerked her head up at the noise and narrowed her eyes a fraction. The witch shifted on the table, uncomfortable under the monster’s gaze. Alphys smirked, stretching her lips in a thin, ugly leer.

            The girl began to realize that this monster wasn’t as helpless as she seemed. A sudden thought popped into her head: Alphys was just bidding her time. She was pretending to be helpless, she was pretending to seem weak and unthreatening. But, she worked with Gaster, she disassembled other monsters as some twisted game. She wasn’t innocent, in fact, Wicca would venture to say that she was far from it.

            A startling clarity started to form, and Wicca felt hesitant. In this place, in this _world_ it seemed like everybody was out for themselves. Everybody was deceiving each other. Nobody did anything without compensation, as Little Red and Gaster had so clearly demonstrated.

            So, why should she?

            If she warned either one of the monsters of what she suspected, what would happen? There would be no “Oh wow, thanks Wicca, you’re the best!”. They would use her information, take note, and then toss her aside. Tossing out a free-be like that might even lower herself in their eyes. She had to play by their game using their rules.

            At least, until she found a way out (again).

            “Doctor” Gaster returned to the tableside, without gloves. Wicca eyed his naked hands suspiciously but thought better than to comment on his unsanitary surgical practices.

            Alphys wheeled a strange looking machine over and forcefully attached a nozzle onto Wicca’s face. Every warning system in her brain flashed and whistled. She did not want to be unconscious, especially in the presence of these three monsters…They could do anything.

            She ripped the mask off her face, throwing it at the yellow reptilian.

            “No gas. Local anesthetic _only_.”

            Gaster laughed while Alphys glared. The monster gave a pointed look at the older skeleton, but he returned it with a curling snicker.

            “You heard the patient. Local, stat.”

            Alphys turned around and rooted through some cabinets without complaint. She returned with a large glass jar of sloshing liquid and a thick needle. Wicca stiffened, but refused to go back on her word; especially after the triumphant look Alphys gave her when she produced the rather gruesome syringe.

            The yellow reptilian took her time filling up the plunger, enjoying Wicca’s discomfort. Gaster, on the other hand, was not nearly as patient. He snapped at the monster, but before he could take the needle from her, she was already plunging it aggressively into the witch’s side.

            Wicca couldn’t help but wince. It felt like she was being stabbed with a blade, and her already tender wound throbbed from the impact. Luckily, the local anesthesia acted semi-fast and took _most_ of the pain away. It was a weird sensation, it felt like a liquid-coldness was dripping into her body. It made her shiver uncontrollably.

            After three more injections (when two would have been more than sufficient. Alphys just liked to watch Wicca squirm), the “doctor” got to work.

            He carefully snipped the witch’s previous stitches and removed the thread. It was clean and precise, Wicca didn’t feel a thing except for some slight pressure. It was the next part that wasn’t so pleasant.

            Gaster took a surgical instrument and clamped it onto Wicca’s skin and pulled it back, allowing the skeleton to see further into her wound. She bit her lip, hard. The local was doing its job, so far-ish. She could feel a hot clammy pressure where the instrument held her skin, and she felt sick from thinking about it. She took in two quick breaths but stopped when she saw Alphys grin.

            The girl narrowed her eyes. Not only did she have to make it through this surgery, but she’d have to do it without showing weakness. Because, after all, isn’t that what these monsters thrived off of down here? She wouldn’t give Alphys the satisfaction.

            Or at least, that was the plan.

            The “doctor” explored the gaping hole with a scalpel, and the blade came away wet and sticky with blood. The witch dug the bed of her nails into her palm and put her head back. It might be a better idea to not watch her own surgery.

            She could _feel_ him poking around, she could _hear_ her insides squelch, she could _smell_ the heavy copper. She actively tried to keep her bile in her stomach.

            The older skeleton hummed as he worked, seeming to take enjoyment whenever she tensed reflexively. He paused abruptly and made a little gleeful sound.

            “What?” The witch asked, failing at hiding her anxiety.

            “It appears-” Gaster squeezed something and a spurt of red arced out and landed on his pale hand. Wicca couldn’t contain her shudder. “-that you seem to be suffering from some internal damage.”

            Any normal person would have said this with sympathy, not unrequited joy. Not Gaster. No, this skeleton was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

            “What does that mean?”

            “It means-” He looked up and stared her straight in the eye, “I get to have some _fun_.”


	18. Her Sans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback wanted :P

_“What does that mean?”_

_“It means-” He looked up and stared her straight in the eye, “I get to have some_ fun.”

* * *

 

 -1 month later-

            Sans knocked his knuckles against the table as he impatiently looked around the room. A loud POP! Rang through the air, sounding just above the skeleton. Raising a browbone, and glancing up with a lazy stare, Sans blinked. Three tears appeared in the air above him. The edges gleamed an ominous purple, and with a large ripping sound, they grew larger. Sans could make out moving shadows on the other side of the tears but couldn’t see what was happening.

            All at once the tears _bulged_ and ripped, splintering off of each other and creating one large hole. A large mass pushed its way through and landed on Sans’ lap. In a blink, the gash in the air was gone, as if it never was there to begin with.

            Sans’ eyes bulged and before he could push the mass off of him, it looked up and blinked.

            “Sans?”

            “Wicca?”

            The witch clung to the skeleton tightly, “I can’t believe-I have been-you don’t know _how_ long-”

            The witch spoke too fast, thoughts pouring from her mouth before fully forming. She bounced with giddiness and a wave of instant relief (and just a bit of disbelief) flooded Sans.

            “Oh my God-” It came out as a shriek.

            “I just-I don’t-” Wicca reached up and grasped his skull in her hands.

            “You-you’re here-” She thumbed his scar, sending a light dusting of blue across his cheeks.

            “It’s actually you-” Murmuring now, she pecked the jagged scratches and giggled and laughed and kissed him more and couldn’t breathe and just felt so relieved because finally-finally she had found-

            “Wait!” Wicca reared back and scrutinized the skeleton with a close eye. She prodded his disheveled jacket, stuck a finger in his mouth to examine his teeth, and flicked him in the face. His eye flashed a quick baby blue in annoyance, but before he could push her off of him (because, just _what the hell_ was she doing?) she let out a puff of air and sunk into his lap, fighting back the urge to close her eyes and give into her exhaustion.

            “I’ve never loved the color blue in my life more than I do now.” She said it with such pain and hope it caused the skeleton to pause.

            (Because…it was finally her.)

            (Because…)

            Someone cleared their throat and the duo jumped in surprise.

            “Human!?” A voice called out.

            Wicca tightened her grip on Sans and narrowed her eyes. A dull hum permeated her body and Sans could swear he saw a hue of orange outlining the witch. Tendrils of her hair began to curl and uncurl by themselves. A small gust of wind swept through the skeleton and into the room, feeling warm as it came and cooling as it went. An aroma of spices and crushed leaves filled the air-and-and was Wicca _floating_?

            Sans held a hand down on her upper thigh and lightly gripped her waist. She wasn’t exactly levitating, just… _lifted_ slightly. He kept his hands on her, some irrational part of him worried that she’d just up and fly away without him, leaving him _here_. Sans suppressed a shudder at the thought.

            The witch winced at his touch and crumpled into herself. The sweet-spice smell and strange draft dropped, her hair stopped it’s strange dance, and that weird sheen of orange disappeared.

            “I’d appreciate it if you took your broken hands off of me.” Wicca managed to get out through clenched teeth. The skeleton must have been high on something because he instantly put his hands up without a single comment or glower at her insult.

            “I thought we were back home.” The witch murmured.

            Sans opened his mouth to reply-

            “You can have a home with us!” A little bubbly voice interjected instead.


	19. Why Is This Weird Creature ALSO Called Sans? AKA, UnderSwap Sans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Feedback, feedback, feedback."
> 
> -The Charismatic Wicca

_“I thought we were back home.” The witch murmured._

_Sans opened his mouth to reply-_

_“You can have a home with us!” A little bubbly voice interjected instead._

 

* * *

 

 

            A short, squat skeleton wearing strange armor and a handkerchief around his neck bounced around the room.

            Wicca smacked herself in the face.

            “You have got to be kidding me. Please tell me that that _thing_ ,” the witch jagged an accusing finger at the dancing skeleton, “is also called Sans.”

            Sans, her _Sans_ (finally), glared back at the monster.

            “Unfortunately, yes.” He growled.

            “Of course. Escape one hell hole and leap into another. I would rather deal with the backstabbing and killing than… _this_.”

            The weird looking Sans poked his tongue out and ran around the room in circles.  

            “Can you carry me?”

            Sans gave the girl an exasperated look.

            She gestured to her thigh, where a large piece of metal jutted out of.

            “I can’t exactly walk myself.”

            Sans all but crawled out of his bones. The blood had already soaked into his jacket and sweats. The coppery scent that he hadn’t noticed before now threatened to choke him, and he gagged in response.

            “Jesus-Wicca!” He gently picked her up and managed to stare daggers into her eyes all the while. He carried her lightly into a nearby bathroom (ignoring the stuttering protests from their audience outside; “She’s bleeding?! She’s bleeding! WHY DIDN’T SHE SAY SOMETHING TO BEGIN WITH!?”)

             Sans set the witch on the counter by the sink and shut the door. He felt tired suddenly, and he had to grip the counter to keep steady.

            Wicca leaned over, ignoring the stinging and pain that radiated from the metal shard in her thigh, and tore off some toilet paper. With a quick grunt, she grasped the metal and tugged it out. She tossed it lazily over her shoulder as her blood began to spurt out of the wound. A practiced hand pressed the toilet paper over her wound and she frowned.

            “Uh, hey, can I borrow that?” The witch pointed at the skeleton’s ratty jacket.

            “Why.”

            Wicca’s eyes darted around the room and she puffed out her lips.

            “Because.”

            Sans took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

            “Fine.”

            He unzipped his jacket and tossed it to the witch, who immediately tore off one arm and tied it as a tourniquet above her thigh. Sans gaped at her and a could feel a little twist in his left rib.

            “What?” Wicca asked, nonchalant, “Didja want me to bleed out?”

            “I’d have preferred that, actually.”

            The witch ignored him and went back to nursing her wound.

            “I think I need stitches, do you have a needle and some uh-” she waved her hand around in the air, “-fishing line or thick thread? I’m not picky.”

            Sans furrowed his brow bones and gave her a look.

            “What the hell happened to you?”

            Wicca looked down to the side and didn’t answer him.


	20. Pain in the Name of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough cough*
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback, please?  
> Thank you.

_“What the hell happened to you?”_

_Wicca looked down to the side and didn’t answer him._

* * *

 

-1 month earlier-

            The witch whimpered beneath her muzzle. She was lying on a cold, concrete floor surrounded by mold and musk. Her side twitched, and she let out an involuntary cry.

            Gaster had remained true to his agreement; he stitched Wicca up and made sure that she hadn’t died. Although at the moment, the girl wasn’t too happy about it.

            The skeleton had purposefully filled every moment of the surgery with pain and anguish. With every incision, every stitch, every staple, he made sure to twist, to drag, to rip just enough to make her scream and buck. Her throat quickly went raw from her guttural cries, and a day later left her ashamed of her weakness. Gaster poked and prodded senselessly until he found her sweet spot. The more she wailed, the more he hurt her to hear the sound.

            She didn’t want to give him-or his nasty, little assistant-the satisfaction of her torture. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. The only thing she could feel alongside the pain was a deep disappointment and prickling shame.

            Now the girl was confined to the small basement owned by the impostor Sans. He would come down occasionally, check on her, feed her, torture her.

            She hadn’t the strength to fight back, her body felt bruised and battered. And it angered her more than anything.

            She was angry that she was stuck in this shitty place, she was angry that she was stuck in this shitty situation, she was angry that she was stuck feeling shitty and weak, she was angry that she was stuck constantly being taken advantage of by shitty people.

            So, she decided to do something about it, lying there on the cold, concrete floor withering in pain. She decided that she no longer wanted to be weak, no longer wanted to be at the mercy of others. She decided that she needed to get out, and her anger was the key.

            The witch closed her eyes and breathed out. Letting the buzz of her pain fall to the wayside-still present, dancing in the corners of her brain-and breathed in the electricity that permeated the house. The problem with this world was that it hated her. It attacked her on every level, in every sense. It wasn’t enough that the people here were corrupted by a strange kick of cruelty, the very air raged against her, as it did now. The energy of this place had broken her fingers, repeatedly; it had stolen the breath from her body and electrocuted her. But now it would free her.

            You see, there had to be a reason Wicca ended up in this hell hole, or at the very least, a cause. She had a feeling she knew what it was, and the secret lied in Sans. Something happened between both human and monster during that whirlwind of emotion at Grillby’s and it had fired up some raw power that split a hole in the fabric of spaced, drop-kicking her into this batshit, insane world.

            The witch looked at her hands and blackened fingers with a look of resignation. The way back would be painful, but did it matter at this point? She had already thoroughly suffered, surely what she was about to try couldn’t be that much worse. Right?

            Wicca grit her teeth and pulled. She pulled the heavy, swirling mass that prowled through the dingy air. She pulled the sharp current until it filled her lungs and swam dizzying in her head. She embraced the shocks and jolts, she allowed the pricks of pain and bites of brutality that hit her body. Her hands had already begun to shake, her fingers were already starting to splinter. A short, sickeningly-sweet feeling snaked her way around her spinal cord, slithering up through her brain.

            She slowly extended her hands in front of her. Tentatively, with the care of a skittish creature, she reversed the flow and _pushed_ , directing all her energy down and through her hands and out the tips of her fingers.

            With an unproportionately small sound for such a horrific action, the bones in her hands exploded through her skin. Her eyes widened, and the sizzling pain hit her at a troubling delay. With a tiny cry, the witch collapsed.

 


	21. Orange and Purple

_“What the hell happened to you?”_

_…the bones in her hands exploded through her skin… the witch collapsed._

 

* * *

 

-1 month later-

            Wicca opened a cabinet to her left and leafed through the contents, muttering to herself. Sans stood in front of her, arms crossed, waiting.

            The witch grabbed a jug of hydrogen peroxide and preceded to drown her wound in it. The sting from the chemicals felt trivial, a phantom of what she was used to. She almost wanted to throttle the bottle, demand it to give her more. She wanted more. She was used to more.

             Sans grimaced and looked away. He felt confused, annoyed, and uncomfortable. He had never been on equal footing with the witch before, it always felt like a dance between them (one he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with) but now something had changed. There was a shift, a fissure in their dynamic that made him feel uneasy.

            “How long have you been here?” The girl asked while she worked.

            “Around a week, possibly a bit more.” Came the reply.

            The witch bit back a sneer, her nostrils flared, “A week, possibly more?” she mocked, “That’s dandy. That’s fantastic.” Wicca shoved the bottle of chemicals off the counter, letting it spill all over the tiled floor.

            Sans took an involuntary step back.

            The skeleton had never been in this sort of position before. He had never…cared before. Life for him was just a means to an eventual end. His only purpose was to keep Papyrus safe from the true monster of his world, Gaster. But, lately, everything was becoming too mundane. Even saving the Snowden townspeople was becoming a drag. Because it simply didn’t matter anymore. There was no way to defeat Gaster on his own. The townspeople were quietly being snatched away, and none of them knew it. Sans had _tried_ to warn them of the danger, he had _tried_ to tell them about the monster in the woods with his demonic pets, but they forget as soon as they were told. When Wicca had burst in, her cloak blazing behind her, her amber eyes sparking, everything became different. At first, he didn’t like it. She had to go, she didn’t belong. After all, she was human. Yet, she gave him something that he had always craved: challenge. He was worried that he would place a foot out of step in their winding, whirling dance of banter and insults, but it exhilarated him to a point he wasn’t familiar with. He _craved_ her.

            But, when that was taken from him, when they were blown away in the small closet in Grillby’s, he was left without his challenge and placed into a radically different world that contained odd copies of the monsters back home, including himself. But, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t the challenge that he needed or wanted. Wicca was his challenge, and life became mundane again without her.

            Sans looked at the witch, soaking in her image. Her once amber eyes appeared to be a vibrant orange, her hair seemed to breath around her (was it a dark purple now?), as if it was its own entity. Her delicate mouth was pulled back into a sneer, and she huffed in such a way that Sans could tell that her heart was beating a mile a minute.

            Sans wasn’t sure that the witch that sat defiantly before him was the same witch that he had confidently challenged in Grillby’s closet. Something was different, something was off.

            The skeleton felt a brief pang in his chest. In the week that she was missing, in the week that he was stuck in this bizarre world, surely it couldn’t have been enough time to warp her, could it?

            But, exactly how long was she gone in relation to him?


	22. Bravery and Perseverance

_…the bones in her hands exploded through her skin_

_…the witch collapsed._

 

* * *

 

 

-1 hour earlier-

            The clatter of chain.

            The draw of steel.

            (The muzzle, the leash)

            “Don’t do nothin’, Dollface.”

            Threatening. Warning.

            The witch closed her eyes.

            She breathed.

            In.

            Out.

            _Through_.

            A pulse of orange light erupted from her cracked fingertips and threw the skeleton off guard. His body clipped the wall and he fell like a dead weight.

            The girl grinned wildly, her eyes blazed an infected orange.

            “You’re completely fucked.” She barked, reveling in the energy that flowed through her. The energy that she bent to her will, the energy that coursed through her veins and fueled her anger, her desire, her lust.

            The impostor rubbed a raw knuckle against his head. He was confused. Scratch that, he was completely and utterly baffled. He couldn’t believe that this weak mutt who had been rolling in filth for weeks, unable to move from the pain of surgery and the new bruises _he_ had lovingly inflicted, could possibly fight back in any capacity. He thought that he had broken her spirit. Clearly, he was wrong.

            The skeleton cracked his chain like a whip, sending sparks flying. Sounded to him that this self-proclaimed witch needed to learn that her tricks wouldn’t fly with him. Just as he wound up to unleash himself on the girl, Wicca snapped a stack of cards into her hand.

            Edged in an orange hue, they cut through the air like daggers and impaled themselves into their target. One after the other bit bone, Jack, Joker, Three of Hearts. Their victim stumbled back in shock. He barely had a breath before the witch flexed her fingers and the cards _pushed in_ , sending purple fissures across the points of intrusion.

            The sounds of the impostor’s bones splintering brought a smile to Wicca’s lips. She drove the cards deeper, eliciting a cry that made the girl laugh.

            “It isn’t quite as fun when you’re the one to get hurt, is it, _Little Red_?”

            The skeleton glowered through his pain but said nothing.

            Wicca narrowed her eyes lazily, high from the buzz and thrum in her veins. The witch slowly walked over to the collapsed impostor, setting a boot against his ribs. She pulled the collar of his jacket to her face and she breathed in his fear.

            She peered into his eyes, and an image of her Sans flashed into her mind. She stumbled back and fell, releasing the skeleton from her grip.

            The witch coughed as she tried to stand amid a dust cloud. Eyes watering, she tried to squint through the thinning fog where she could make out a short blurb retreating.

            Before Wicca could react, a pale bone sailed through the air and nearly impaled her on the spot. The girl growled in response and flexed her blackened fingers.

 

* * *

 

-1 hour later-

            Wicca couldn’t tear her gaze from the leaking hydrogen peroxide bottle. She could feel Sans looking at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to stare him in the eye.

            She wasn’t sure when it happened, but she knew that she had changed. Her time with the impostor Sans had created a version of herself that was cruel and viscous, and she didn’t want her Sans to see it. But, she didn’t know if she would be able to contain that vile part of her. She had spent too long in hell.

            “I’m sorry.” She muttered weakly.

            Sans shuffled from foot to foot, uneasy.

            “You don’t need-Look, if you-” Sans blundered about, trying to find a way to say what he was feeling.

            “I want you-”

            Wicca wrapped her arms around the skeleton and squeezed.

            “I tried to come sooner. I tried so hard. I- I think I killed you. I think I killed the monster that shared you name. I couldn’t help it, I became something-I became someone else. The things that I saw…The things that I did. Sans, it hurts so much.”

 

* * *

 

-1 hour earlier-

            The witch and skeleton faced each other, each battered and bruised. A calm tranquility passed over the girl. She had hoped to defeat Sans and find her way back to her skeleton. In the weeks before she had tortured herself by breaking her hands and fingers, spreading the charred blackness from her tips to a centimeter before the first digit. She had found a way to create some sort of tear in space, and after more practice she managed to make it larger. Eventually, she saw him, her Sans, sitting at a table looking bored out of his mind. She had cried, cried because she got to see him, cried because she found him, cried because…it was the only thing holding her together anymore.

            Every time she spent her magic, ever time she drew and cast energy, the blackness crept ever closer. She didn’t know what it meant, and she was terrified of finding out, but she had no choice if she wanted to get back to Sans.

            Even now, in the face of her tormentor, she could only think of her Sans waiting. She wasn’t sure anymore. She wasn’t certain that she could muster the strength to get to him anymore, she was already tired, already injured, already spent. But, she wouldn’t stop trying.

            The witch stretched out her hand, extending her fingers toward the skeleton. A faint purple sheen lightly dusted them, and a spark of light burst forth and smacked the monster square in the chest.

            In agitation, the impostor raked his chain back and managed to catch a broken saw blade. From exhaustion, Wicca couldn’t dodge in time. The blade sank into her thigh, and her vision swam with black. She could only feel the hot blood trail down her leg and hear the screaming in her brain. One second she was in the basement, and the next she was surrounded in a purple haze before she fainted.

            When she came to, the skeleton’s bones were cracked and splintered with steam raising off the body. An explosion of blood coated his surroundings, and Wicca was left whirling from the pain and vertigo.

            She blinked. Hard.

            She needed to get out.

            She had to find Sans.

            And so, she lifted her hands and tore the air, and tore, and tore until she fell through.

 

* * *

 

-20 minutes later-

            The witch unwrapped herself from Sans.

            He looked started and surprised, and if Wicca had the energy she would have laughed at his expression.

            “Can we please go back?”

            Sans furrowed his brow bone, “Go back where?”

            “Your home, my hell.”

            Sans made a face, “How.”

            Wicca smiled (and Sans felt a weight press off of him. She was in there, somewhere. Enough to smile, at least), “That’s easy.”

            The witch tore the air with her blackened fingers and kicked Sans into the void. Wicca looked down at the bloodied and broken saw blade lying on the cold tile before she followed after.


	23. The Loyal Servant, Undyne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone read this?

            The witch stepped through the portal and felt a rush of cold air stream past her face. Colors blurred past her and streamed into an unintelligible scenery that twisted and curved. She felt motionless, bodyless. A heavy weight of contentment fell around her, and she let out a pregnant breath. But, it was gone just as quick as the whirling space between had come.

            Wicca sucked in a breath and coughed until her lungs burned. She stuck a hand out and caught the wall next to her. She wiped some spit from her mouth as her eyes adjusted.

            She was back in Grillby’s closet.

            She closed her eyes.

            _She was back_.

            Before Wicca could take a second to relish in that fact, she was knocked to the ground by a pile of bones just as the door creaked open and a stream of beautiful light crept through.

            (-But hadn’t Sans-)

            “Sans, Mrs. Wicca?” A tentative voice asked.

            (-Gone through first-?)

            The witch opened her eyes to find herself tangled in Sans’ ribcage. With an ugly glare, she pulled her arm from between his fifth and fourth rib bones while ignoring the skeleton’s own pointed look.

            Papyrus’s eyes widened, “Normally I would come back later, but Wicca, you need to get out of here.” The girl tilted her head. Something was wrong, especially if Papyrus was calling her Wicca instead of Ms. Fear gripped her heart suddenly, was she in the right place? Did she accidently go to another world?

            No.

            No.

            If that was true than Papyrus wouldn’t know her name.

            She was back, something was just wrong.

            Right.

            Something was wrong.

            The taller skeleton opened the door wider and stepped into the closet. With a strong tug, he managed to free witch and monster from each other. Once they stepped out, Wicca embraced Papyrus in a furious hug.

            “Please don’t ever where spandex.” She whispered into his side.

            Before the skeleton could dwell too much on that strange request, the door to Grillby’s burst open.

            Wicca still hadn’t let go of Papyrus when heavy footsteps shook the floor and stopped just before them.

            Wicca still hadn’t let go of Papyrus when a guttural voice demanded that she must leave.

            Wicca still hadn’t let go of Papyrus when an armored arm grabbed hers.

            Wicca still hadn’t let go of Papyrus when she let her coins spill from her purse, where they slowly, one by one, lifted from the floor and floated, and spun, with an orange sheen.

            Wicca still hadn’t let go of Papyrus when her hair seemed to dance in a gust of imaginary wind with glowing eyes, or when she stretched her blacken fingers and the coins flew like bullets toward their unfortunate target.

            Wicca let go of Papyrus when she felt the murmur of magic slicing through the air. The witch’s nose crinkled in dissatisfaction at the sight before her.

            Sans, panting, let his arms fall to his sides. A series of bones varying in height had sprung form the ground, catching the witch’s coins.

            “Well, this is special,” The girl crossed her arms as she looked at the intruder, “I figured that I would have a bit more time before the bogeyman came to get me,” the witch snarled, “Undyne the Undying.”

            Something from within the sharp visor stirred, glowing an electric green.


	24. Maybe Not Get Speared Please?

_The witch snarled, “Undyne the Undying.”_

_Something from within the sharp visor stirred,_

_glowing an_

_electric_

_green._

* * *

 

            Sans and Papyrus tore themselves away from the menacing spiked armor to look at Wicca with wide eyes. The witch caught their gaze and shifted her feet. They were looking at her like she had grown three heads.

            “Okay, what?” She eventually asked, hands thrown up in an exasperated tone.

            “Wicca, how do you know the Loyal Servant’s name?”

            The witch rolled her eyes and cut Sans off just as he opened his mouth to speak, “That’s just pathetic, the only thing you’re known for here is the fact that you’re the King’s servant?” Wicca walked towards the hulking suit of armor.

            “I had hoped that you would more interesting than the other one.” The girl gave Undyne a once over, “Guess I was wrong.”

            Wicca turned back around to find the skeleton brothers still giving her a wide-eyed stare. It had progressed from “What-the-hell-are-you-doing” to “You’ve-just-killed-us”.

            “Ms. Wicca, I was trying to warn you about the Loyal Servant.” Papyrus whispered.

            “No need, Papy. That,” the witch turned to point, “is just a hunk of junk.”

            The witch never saw the spear.

\---

            She didn’t need to, she could feel the magic displacing the air as the spear spontaneously appeared. In fact, that particular nasty trick was so old and so over used, the witch lazily side-stepped the impenetrable weapon of destruction with a careless air. If she was going to die, she wasn’t going to do it by some trivial ruse.  

            “Okay, look,” The witch turned toward the sheets of intertwining metal (honestly, the armor was over-kill. It looked like an oversized mech-a suit that belonged in anime. Sure, it was sharp and intimidating, and if not for the witch’s mini vacation, she would have most certainly been freaking out. Unfortunately for the mega oven, Wicca couldn’t care less about the menacing hunk of junk), “I don’t know why you’re here or why you want me, but I’ll go with you. Besides, I have lots to discuss with your king.” And then, adding quietly, “Hopefully he isn’t as bat shit insane like the last one.”

            The armor, and subsequently the monster within the armor, cocked its head to the side. Wicca could have sworn that it was disappointed. The witch almost felt pity, after all this Undyne seemed to be rather useless, not to mention a bit dull. The monster had probably never seen life on the other side of her armor. How tragic.

            Oh well.

            Wicca held her hands together in surrender, and just before Undyne placed an interesting form of handcuffs (somehow, they were electrified) over the witch’s wrists, she changed her mind.

            “On second thought,” The girl kicked the monster squarely in the chest, “I just got back home, and I would rather spend my precious seconds here-” Wicca gestured around the room for emphasis, “Not with you.”


	25. Need a Hug?

_“…I would rather spend my precious seconds here…”_

_“Not with you.”_

* * *

 

            The girl turned back around and began to walk back to Sans and Papyrus. Both of whom were paralyzed from Wicca’s antics. The witch smiled and bit her lip, she had to admit that their reactions, while over the top, were also highly amusing. Wicca couldn’t contain it and she laughed, reveling in the strangeness of her situation. How did she end up here? The girl’s nose wrinkled.

            How _did_ she end up here?

            “Wicca!” The shout had barely reached Wicca’s ears before the sound of an object wishing past thudded into the ground between her feet. The witch’s reaction was immediate and her magic pooled in the air.

            Sans and Papyrus were staring on in astonishment. This was not the gir-this was not the witch that had slammed the door on them yesterday. This person? She was new. She was different. But, she was still Wicca, or at least enough of her. Enough to matter.

            And it was because, somehow, someway, she mattered enough to Sans. This random girl, this random _human_ that he had wanted to destroy less than twenty-four hours before mattered. To him.

            But, she also mattered to another skeleton, a taller skeleton.

                        A skeleton with secrets.

            Before the witch could blink, Papyrus had wrapped himself around her, protecting her, and more importantly, hugging her.

            Wicca’s eyes widened.

            “Papyrus?” She asked. Confusion tremored in her voice.

            “I don’t know what happened to you. You’re different, and I don’t know how-”

            Wicca sank at his words

            “-but, I’m here to help. You can’t hurt the Loyal Servant Ms. Wicca. There are rules down here that you can’t break, okay? Don’t try to do it, please. There’s a way of life down here that just is, and the more you threaten it, the more it pushes back. Please, please, just go with the Servant. You don’t have to fight this, this is not your fight. It will be okay, I’m here for you.”

            The witch felt her legs cave from under her, but Papyrus was there to catch her in his arms. His words played over and over in her head,

            “I’m here for you.”

            Those words-to her limited memory-were the first time anyone had ever spoken them to her. A memory started to bubble in the deep recess of her mind, slipping in an out of view, almost fully remembered but shattered enough to come in random strips and strings.

            _She was sitting in the grass, her panty hose dripping wet in the damp grass. She could smell the rain in the air, feel the rush of the wind, see the bare trees._

_“No one is here for you, nobody will save you.”_

_The words whipped through her, cutting skin and searing her mind._

_The figure knelt, a perfect amalgamation of shadow. Silent, but fuming in a quiet, powerful darkness that threatened to spill to the surface. It filled her sight until she could only_ him _. Grabbing her shoulders, digging in its nails._

_Snarling, “You are not enough.”_

            Wicca gasped, feeling as if she had surfaced from freezing water.

            “Okay Paps, okay. I won’t fight her.”

            Sans looked on as the witch burrowed into his brother. She looked so small, so innocent. The skeleton felt a tear within himself and he looked away.


	26. Asgore

_“Okay Paps, okay. I won’t fight her.”_

_The skeleton felt a tear within himself_

_…and he looked away._

            The witch shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was elegant, sculpted in a beautiful fashion. Too bad it felt like sitting on the stiffest boulder on the plant. As Wicca shuffled around, she was trying to keep her breathing maintained at a nice, reasonable pace. The last time she had been in “Her Lovely Highness’s” Palace, she left in a mess of blood.

            Wicca looked around the palace. At least this one wasn’t as gloomy as the last, although, strangely, this one seemed to be in disrepair. The décor was covered in a thin layer of dust, the paint was faded, and threatening to peel. The girl shuddered, this palace felt like a ghost of itself.

            A noise beyond a closed door stopped the witch from fantasizing about all the different ways to break her chair. (smash it against the table, smash it against the wall, smash it against Undyne, smash it against Sans, lifting the chair up and climbing a nearby sculpture and then jumping onto the chandelier and finally body smashing it to the floor. Her fantasies involved a of smashing)

            The door opened and the “Loyal Servant”, or Undyne, entered the room followed by a monster in white fur. He was enormous, bigger than the previous King and packing a lot of muscle. Wicca sat up straighter in her seat and smoothed down her dress. After all, this King was definitely easy on the eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure how a witch to goat monster relationship would work, but she was more than willing to find out. At least, until he opened his mouth.

            “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t skewer you where you sit for being a human.”

            Oh god.

            That.

            Wicca groaned and let her head fall back.

            “Of course, that again.” She muttered to herself.

            “Excuse me.” The King growled.

            Wicca wasn’t certain if goats could raise their hackles (or if they even had hackles) but the King was managing to do a pretty convincing job of it.

            “I said,” The girl raised her head, “That this is stupid.”

            The King didn’t slam his fist into the table like Wicca expected. Instead, he sat back, arms crossed, and studied her. Wicca frowned in response but refused to fill the tense silence. If he was going to try to get her to talk, he would be disappointed.

            Finally, the king spoke, his voice lower and inquisitive, “You randomly appeared in my kingdom, frightened loyal subjects in Snowden, got a job at Grillby’s, and talk smack to the king of this land. Who are you.”

            Wicca raised an eyebrow. Strange. She examined the King more closely. His long, honey-gold hair flowed into his beard, creating the image of a mane. His face was schooled into an expression of discipline. She was a trespasser, and he wanted to know what she was. She knew enough to know that being human seemed to be a one-way ticket to death, yet that didn’t entirely seem like the only question he had asked. In fact, what he didn’t ask was far more interesting.

            No talk of Gaster, no talk of his pack of amalgamations, no talk of disappearing “Loyal Subjects”. Did he not know about the precarious position of his kingdom, or did he not think that she would have encountered anything strange? Was he expecting her to spill her tale of tragically falling into a world filled with monsters?

            “That’s a simple question.” Wicca smiled, which quickly grew into a crooked grin, “I’m Wicca, and besides the king of this lovely land, who are you?”

            He ignored her sarcasm, betraying nothing in his ascetic appearance, “My name is not of importance.”

            Wicca gave a fake frown of disappointment, “Every name carries some semblance of importance _My Lord_.”

            The King let out an amused breath of air.

            “Besides, I already know your name.”

            The King’s knuckles tensed, but he did not move. Wicca’s smile widened at the response, she found a weak spot, now if she could just push it.

            “You know, _Your Supremeness_ , I thought that it was nice that you sent your guard dog after me.” The girl gestured the stack of armor standing at attention by the door and his gaze flickered briefly to his loyal servant before resting steadily back to Wicca.  

            “In fact,” The girl continued, “I think we got along fairly well.”

            The King gave Wicca a pointed look.

            “Okay, well after all the spear throwing and threats,” She waved a hand in front of her face, “But, I got to know your little ‘Loyal Subject’ pretty well.” The girl smiled and called over to the servant without turning, “Isn’t that right, Undyne?”

            The monster in the armor looked up in confusion at someone other than her king calling for her.

            The King’s hard eyes pierced into Wicca’s. She could practically feel his anger vibrate in the air around them. The girl suppressed a giggle.

            “One more time, and answer promptly,” the King shifted in his seat, revealing a blade strapped to his belt, bejeweled in gold stones.

            “ **Who** are you?”

            Wicca smiled darkly, “Now, _My Grace_ , I would love to see what you could do with that sword of yours, but if I was scared of pointy sticks I would have died a month ago.” The girl put her hands on the table and leaned forward.

            The King mirrored Wicca, leaning in enough for her to feel his breath, “I’m waiting.”

            “Like I said, _Your Majesty_ , I’m Wicca.”

            The King stared, waiting for her to finish.

            “ _Your Highness_ , I’m sorry if I haven’t been direct enough for you to understand, but I’ll simplify it for _My Wise Majesty_.”

            Wicca ducked her head and bit her lip, then looked up through her lashes at the King.

            “I’m a witch.”

            She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear and her voice whispered across his skin as she sighed his name.

            “ _Asgore._ ”


	27. The Magic of a Witch

_She leaned in close,_

_her lips brushing against his ear_

_and her voice whispered across his skin_

_she sighed his name_

_“Asgore.”_

* * *

 

            Wicca couldn’t hold back a muffled giggle at the King’s expression as she sat back into her chair. His eyes were strained, his jaw clenched, his fists curled. The wooden table dented under his angry weight.

            “I can prove it too.” Wicca smiled at the King’s confused expression, “I can prove that I’m a witch.”

            The King sat back into his chair and tried to regain his control, Wicca smirked at his struggle.

            “I think you’re missing something.” The witch held up a short-sword (which wasn’t very small) and drove it into the table. Wicca watched Asgore in bemusement as he grabbed at the empty sheath strapped to his side. She had learned the trick during her time in Absolute Hell (not to be confused with this world, known only as Hell). She had managed to master it fairly well, although she had never taken anything as heavy or in such an interesting spot before.

             In a flash his loyal servant was there, electric spear in hand and ready to kill. The King held up an open-faced palm, prompting Undyne to stop herself from plunging her weapon into Wicca.

            The girl hadn’t moved a muscle, waiting for the scene to play out. She knew that she wasn’t in any real danger, and in perfect Wicca fashion, she decided to test her theory in an extreme way. The King had wanted to kill her before she stepped foot within the palace, but he didn’t. He could have sent Undyne after her instead of taking her back to the palace, but again, he didn’t. The King wanted something from her more than he wanted to kill her, fine by her.

            “Although, _My Asgore_ ,” the King tensed at his name, “That isn’t really magic, this is.”

            The witch walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.


End file.
